


Strange Constellations

by Miratete



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward First Times, Awkward Romance, Awkward Sexual Situations, Breastfeeding, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dancing, Dating, Domestic Bliss, Drinking, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Fluid Support, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mech Preg, Parenthood, Protective Cyclonus, Sexual Frustration, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformers Spark Bonds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2019-11-01 18:03:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 56
Words: 74,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17872136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miratete/pseuds/Miratete
Summary: -o-o-o-o-o-The Lost Light has never been the place one would want to raise a family, but Megatron doesn't have a choice.  The fallen warlord has been forced to carry as justice for the lives he's taken.  But when an ally appears in the form of a diminutive white and blue minibot, his shameful and humiliating fate takes an unexpected turn.  Tailgate will do anything to make sure Megatron's sparklings are raised with love and care.  But this is the Lost Light, and any peace found is but fleeting.  The Decepticon faction is anything but dead and it's on an intercept course with the deposed emperor.-o-o-o-o-o-Chapter 56 posted!  Getaway incites a rebellion against Megatron's takeover as the Lost Light is boarded by the forces of Deathsaurus.  Meanwhile in Habsuite 034, Rewind and Tailgate huddle in fear of what might happen or what might be happening to their respective conjunxes.-o-o-o-o-o-





	1. The Little Visitor

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Heavy duty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7468320) by [DarkSideOfTheSwamp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkSideOfTheSwamp/pseuds/DarkSideOfTheSwamp). 



> -o-o-o-o-o-
> 
> This story is a continuation of DarkSideOfTheSwamp's “Heavy Duty,” a postwar fic in which Megatron is given a stay of execution if instead he will bring new lives into being. It's a humiliating fate, but he chooses it over death and is soon the mother of two bitlets by two different sires—Optimus Prime and Whirl. As excited as you are to move ahead, please do read “Heavy Duty” first (it's 5,300 words long and is linked above) so that the concepts and interactions between the characters make more sense.
> 
> -o-o-o-o-o-

-o-o-o-o-o-

Megatron woke up again when his systems had recovered from the shock of feeding both Optimus's spawn and Watch in the same cycle. The damn parasites would be the death of him. And Prowl somehow expected him to produce three as was soon as physically possible? His energy levels were rising, slowly albeit, from Velocity's energon drip into his transfluid lines. And thankfully no one had approached him wanting to spark him since the birth of Watch. The longer he could hold off on carrying another bitlet the easier it would be for him.

And as his sensor suite rolled up to normal levels, he suddenly noticed that Watch was not upon his chest next to her half-brother. The still-nameless firstborn lay there in recharge, mouth still connected to the nozzle of the feeding pouch, but the younger sparkling was missing. Looking about he expected to see that she'd slipped to the side, ending up between his frame and the railing about the medberth. But on not finding her there, a sense of worry gripped him. He sat up, hoping to Primus that she'd not fallen to the floor. If she were dead, he'd never hear the end of it. If law enforcement didn't execute him for her murder, Whirl certainly would. The psychotic Autobot, as much as he'd come to regret sparking Megatron, and as much as he'd tried to step away from his involvement with the former Decepticon warlord, could not seem to make a break with the fact that he'd sired a child.

But before he could panic, he heard her cooing nearby. His gaze led by her voice, he looked over to see the tiny femme cradled in the arms of another mech... one that shouldn't have been there. He recognized the blue and white minibot, one he'd seen working about the corridors and rooms of the Lost Light but didn't know by name. Some sort of maintenance technician; the outer plate on his forearm was marked 'Waste Disposal.' He was sitting on a chair nearby holding the mechling tenderly, a finger delicately tracing her helm. Watch seemed to be enjoying his attentions, for she burbled happily at his touch, a smile evident on her tiny face. The minibot was smiling likewise and cooing back to her, charmed completely by her.

“Excuse me?”

The minibot looked up with a horrified gasp. His blue visor went nearly white with fear, and he choked out a tumble of words worthy of a racer on circuit boosters. “Oh you're awake now and I'm sorry but I was just holding her. You see the door was open and I've never seen a sparkling well I have now well I've held one now but she was looking at me and then she was reaching for me and you were asleep but if you were awake I would have asked but then I didn't want to wake you and she was reaching for me and making a noise like she was going to cry so I just took her and she wanted to be held because then she calmed down and was just sucking on my finger and putting her hands in my mouth and oh gosh she's so sweet and lovable and oh gosh my mask is still open!” He ceased his panic for a moment to slap the mask over his faceplate closed. “I'm sorry I'm sorry sorry I won't ever come in here again I really just wanted to see a sparkling and you must love her so much and I know that I sure would.” He quickly hopped up, deposited Watch into the crook of Megatron's arm, and hurried out of the room.

From the hall there came a crash and another apology and the cry of the minibot. Velocity could be heard scolding someone, telling him to be much more careful.

In a few moments Velocity entered Megatron's room. “Is everything all right in here?”

“Just fine,” said Megatron, settling Watch back on her nozzle, where she immediately began to feed again.

“Was Tailgate in here?”

“Tailgate?” So that was his name. “The blue and white thing? 'Waste Disposal' on his arm?”

“Yes. That Tailgate.”

“He was just looking in. He seemed nice enough.”

Velocity sighed. “He was in for repairs, but he wasn't supposed to be in here,” she huffed. “We'll need to go back to locking the door.”

Megatron settled against the raised head of the berth again. “No need. He was all right. Apparently he just wanted to see a sparkling.”

Velocity looked unconvinced. “I'm locking the doors again. Never know when Whirl might show up yet again either.”

The former warlord smirked. If things were different, he could have solved the problem of the pesky rotary permanently. No, it wouldn't happen, but the thought was nice. “How about I move into your quarters? No one would find me there,” he said instead. Over his stay he'd come to find the Camien medic quite appealing. She would have made a fine empress had things been different.

“How about we work on getting you back into your own quarters first,” she huffed, apparently just as uninterested as before at any sort of a relationship besides professional with him. She stepped out, and Megatron heard the door lock behind her. Optimus' brat began to stir, and as he came online he began to suck again.

The former warlord sighed, and the little blue and white mech came to mind again. At least someone liked at least one of his children.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 2: "Getting to Know You" 

-o-o-o-o-o-


	2. Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron looks into Tailgate's records just to see who he is, and then invites him over to meet the sparklings properly.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sitting in the Lost Light's command chair, Megatron swiveled over the computer interface and opened up the crew roster. He soon had Tailgate's records on-screen and began to read the minibot's history—be it ever so brief.

The pathetic little thing had been found badly damaged just prior to the Lost Light's launch, a maintenance technician that had apparently been damaged and lost for an impossibly long time. Ratchet had put him back together, but Tailgate had since struggled with the combination of his advanced age and his overwhelming inexperience Interestingly, he'd also been assigned to the second berth in Cyclonus' habsuite.

Rodimus's notes described him as cheerful and popular with the crew despite his misfortunes. Ratchet's reports detailed an unending list of patchings and replacements and upgrades and a near-fatal struggle with cybercrosis. Rung's evaluation noted a severe frustration and embarrassment over the fact that he'd been unconscious for the better part of six octads, compounded by the fact that he was now aboard a ship full of mechs who'd done significant things with their lives while he'd done nothing.

He pulled up the memory from earlier that day, watching again as the minibot held and adored the bitlet in his arms. She didn't seem nearly so tiny in his grasp, and they were definitely enchanted with each other. And when caught, he was so adorably frightened and flustered. Before he'd realized it, Megatron had viewed the file five times, from the moment he began searching for Watch to the presumed collision outside of his room. And then he realized that he was smiling to himself.

Smiling?

He hadn't smiled so genuinely since the end of the war.

He quickly put his scowl back on and hoped none of the bridge's duty crew had noticed. Then he closed down the file and pushed the console away. But then a cycle later he found himself composing an invitation to the maintenance technician, offering a chance to come meet the sparklings properly.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Oh my gosh! He's so cute!” cried Tailgate as Megatron carefully placed his firstborn onto Tailgate's lap. “Hi little guy,” he purred to the sparkling, admiring his tiny hands and blue optics. He spoke to the child, telling him how handsome he was and what a wonderful warrior he'd be in the future given his impressive parentage.

At first the child was a bit puzzled by the stranger, but soon he was leaning into the soft touches and the friendly nuzzling against his plating.

Megatron again found himself smiling. The minibot was thoroughly charmed by the sparkling and despite having so little experience with their kind, seemed hopelessly enamored of the baby mech. It was with some private embarrassment that Megatron realized that in just half an hour the maintenance technician had shown the child more affection than he ever had. No wonder Optimus' spawn was becoming quite enamored of the visitor as well.

“What's his name?” Tailgate asked.

“He doesn't have one yet.”

“He doesn't have one?” Tailgate stared in amazement. “Not even a nickname?”

Megatron withheld the fact that he'd referred to the child by several inappropriate terms. “Your illustrious Prime told me that he wanted to select one for him. But he hasn't.”

“How could he not name his own son?” The minibot stared into the mechling's silver face. He had his sire's frame-type, though had settled upon red optics along with his carrier's colors.

“I'm sure Optimus has more important things to attend to,” said Megatron blandly.

Tailgate looked into the child's wondering blue gaze. “How could they not give you a name? They should give you a handsome name to match your handsome face.” He wiggled the child and kissed him on his nasal ridge, which brought forth a peal of delighted giggles.

After the unnamed bitlet became distracted by one of his few toys, Megatron placed Watch into Tailgate's arms, where he cradled the tiny thing lovingly once again.

Whirl's daughter recognized Tailgate immediately and reached for his face, burbling and cooing happily, and then smacking his faceplate when she couldn't find his mouth. Shyly, hoping Megatron wouldn't notice it much, Tailgate opened his faceplate for her and she happily grabbed his lower lip.

“I can't believe that one-eyed monster is your daddy,” Tailgate admired, his mouth full of fingers. “He's so threatening, and you're nothing but sweetness.”

“It's just a disguise. She's actually an Antillan Proto-leech,” Megatron deadpanned.

“What?” asked Tailgate, abruptly looking up at Megatron.

“You've never seen her feed. She gets a hold of a nozzle and won't let go until I've been drained.”

Tailgate took one of Watch's tiny hands between his thumb and index finger. “You're not a leech,” he said, wiggling her hand gently. “You're a pretty little femme with a nutjob daddy and a grumpy mommy.”

Megatron huffed a laugh.

“Just don't grow up to be either of them. You should take after Velocity. Everyone loves Velocity. She's that pretty medic that looks after your carrier.”

Megatron rose from his seat on the medberth and leaned over the two of them. “The little guy's right. Velocity's definitely the best role-model here.”

Looking up, Watch fixed her optics on her carrier, and then began to wail.

“Ooh, don't cry,” Tailgate said, instinctively rubbing her plating soothingly.

“She's just hungry,” Megatron said matter-of-factly. He slid open his chest partway and Watch immediately squirmed in attempting to get to the feeding nozzle. “See?” He picked her up and settled her against his now-open chest and she immediately began to suck greedily at the feeding apparatus. “Antillan Proto-leech.”

Tailgate sighed in relief. “Well that's good. I'm glad she was only crying because she wanted to eat.”

“Sparklings fuel constantly. These bitlets are sucking me dry.”

“They need that much energon?”

“Yes, and it hurts that neither of their sires are here or willing to help me look after them. And that I'm stuck using artificial transfluid. Not even donated transfluid. It's not quite as effective as the real thing which means they have to drink more.”

A twinge of sympathy rolled through Tailgate's systems. I guess that's why you only see couples or trines with babies.”

“It does make things a lot easier.”

The unnamed sparkling suddenly noticed that his half-sister was feeding, and realized that he wasn't, and he crawled over to Megatron, squawking to be picked up.

Megatron groaned. “Not you too.” Carefully holding onto Watch, he leaned down and scooped up the older sparkling and pressed him to the other feeding pouch. “It's best you go now,” he said to their visitor. “We'll be at this a while, and I'll probably be asleep soon.”

Tailgate looked disappointed. “All right, Sir. Thank you for letting me come see them.”

Megatron could see the sincerity in the small mech's expression. “Would you like to come visit again?”

Excitedly, Tailgate straightened up from his slouch. “Could I? I think your children are adorable and I'd love to come see them again. Maybe play with them too?”

Megatron nodded. “It could be arranged.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 3: "Shortages"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	3. Shortages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tailgate is worried for the care of the sparklings--their carrier is obviously having a rough time of it. Megatron makes the minibot an offer.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate lay chest down on a pad on the floor of the room. The unnamed sparkling sat before him, chewing on the minibot's fingers. Megatron sat on the medic's chair nearby feeding Watch. And when Tailgate next looked up, he noted that Megatron had dropped into recharge for the second time since he'd come to visit. And on his past three visits the carrier had slept as well.

“They're not giving you what you need,” said Tailgate bitterly when the former warlord was awake again.

Megatron sighed, noting that at some point during his unconsciousness, Watch had ended up yet again in the minibot's arms and Optimus's child was in the mediberth, sleepily snuggling a soft toy. “Velocity's been doing what she can within reason. I have plenty of energon, and they've been giving me a synthetic transfluid. It's not as good as the real thing, but it's been helping.”

“I suppose it's much easier for two mechs to raise a sparkling. And here you are, one mech with two sparklings.”

“Tell that to Optimus and Whirl. They're the ones failing in their parental duties. Not surprising though. An Autobot leader who no longer has the courage to lead and a psychopath who can barely keep himself in check.” Megatron went to lie on the mediberth again where his firstborn was already asleep, tucked up against the bed rail. “A prison without walls,” Megatron mused. “Starscream and Prowl knew that parenthood would be an effective punishment for me.” He rolled himself up onto the mediberth, his frame creaking in protest.

Tailgate huffed angrily. “Sparklings should be a treasure. Something to delight in. Not punishment.”

Megatron smiled sardonically. “Sometimes I wonder if it would be best for our race to just die out.”

With a gasp, Tailgate looked up at him again in shock, standing and rushing to the bedside. “How can you say that?”

Disturbed from her nap in Tailgate's arms, Watch began to cry, and Tailgate immediately tried to quiet her down. “It's all right, little one. Your mommy didn't really mean that. He's just grumpy. He's always grumpy.” He rocked her softly in his arms, humming softly to her. “I can't really blame him though,” he whispered. Within a couple of minutes she was recharging again. Megatron was settling in himself. One hand absently stroked the sparkling beside him.

When Tailgate faced Megatron again, the big mech spoke. “Velocity said that if you will keep visiting, I should be able to move back into my quarters again.”

“Oh?”

“You're obviously very good with the bitlets, and willing to help me look after them.”

“But I'm not a medic or a nurse even. What if something goes wrong?”

“Then you call Velocity. And if she's not available, Ratchet and First Aid are here as well.”

“Oh. Well I guess that would work.”

“Only if you would be interested.”

Tailgate straightened up. “I love your sparklings. I'd come see them every day if I could, but I'm... well, I'm just a janitor really.” He'd suddenly realized the disparity in their social standing. “I don't want to be annoying and I don't want to feel like I'm intruding all the time.”

“I'm co-captain of this ship, you realize. I can give you different duties aboard it. Part time nanny, perhaps?”

“Really? Oh! I'd like that. But I don't want to give up the work I am doing. Not to sound too proud of myself, but some of the work Rodimus assigned me to... if I'm not there, it won't get done.”

Megatron smiled. This little mech always made him smile. “You're very devoted,” he said.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 4: "A Bigger Role"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	4. A Bigger Role

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tailgate takes the liberty of naming Megatron's firstborn. Later, the sparkling rewards him with his first word.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Megatron woke yet again to find Tailgate sitting next to him on the berth, Watch in his arms, the sleepy bitlet pawing at his mask and visor. “Has she been good for you?” Megatron asked softly. He found that with the minibot, he was taking a softer tone of voice—very uncharacteristic of himself.

“Oh! You're awake,” Tailgate said. “You went into recharge again halfway through feeding Synthesis.”

“Synthesis?”

“Synthesis. Your firstborn. I gave him a name since neither you nor his sire has.” The little mech sounded determined.

Megatron was a bit stunned by Tailgate's audacity. “You named my son?”

“You're welcome to change it, but I figured he can't grow up with me calling him 'sweetie' or 'cutie' or 'sweetspark' all the time, and you calling him... well, the things you do.”

Megatron smirked and looked over to where his newly named bitlet was playing on the rug with a set of colorful plush rings. Ever since Tailgate had taken the job of part-time nanny, more toys had been appearing. Where they came from he wasn't sure, but he didn't question it. True, the sparkling was getting to an age where it wouldn't do to keep referring to him as 'Prime's brat' or 'Autobot curse' as well as a number of other unsavory things. “I suppose you're right.” He pondered the new name, and realized how appropriate it actually was for the child forged from the union of the leaders of two opposing factions. Tailgate must have actually put in a lot of thought instead of just picking something out. Or perhaps Cyclonus had suggested it.

“I also gave Synthesis a bath. I hope you don't mind. He was a mess after feeding and I think he was due for a good cleaning anyway,” Tailgate chirped.

“Did he enjoy it?” Megatron asked curiously. He'd never actually bathed either of his children, only having wiped their frames off as needed.

Tailgate grinned. “He loved it. We had a good time in the washrack. Both of us are nice and clean now.” And then he hopped off of the berth and fetched Megatron a cube of energon, then went to join the baby mech on the rug.

Megatron opened the cube and drank. If only he'd had the minibot from the moment he'd come on board the Lost Light. Things would have been so much easier from the start. Tailgate seemed to be a natural parent.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Tay!” squealed Synthesis as Tailgate appeared at Megatron's side, the sparkling reaching for his nanny. The entire bridge crew turned to look. Even a startled Watch sat up and blinked.

“He said my name!” gasped Tailgate.

Blaster came over. “That was Synthesis? I thought he wasn't speaking yet.”

“Apparently he is now,” answered Megatron, lifting the bitlet into Tailgate's arms. “I suppose it's about that time in his development.”

“Tay!” cried the sparkling again as the minibot pulled him close.

“You know my name,” beamed Tailgate, cuddling the silver mechling. “Tay. That's right. Can you say Tailgate? Hmm? Tailgate?”

The rest of the bridge crew all hung on the moment, wondering what would happen next.

“Tay tay,” Synthesis said happily.

“Yes, Tailgate!” giggled the minibot.

“Tay-tay!”

Megatron had always noticed how happy the sparkling was to see his caretaker, and how he sometimes cried when Tailgate left after his shift in Megatron's quarters. It had to be that affection thing again. And admittedly he had been taking advantage of it. Whenever either of his sparklings got fussy or noisy or restless while he was on the bridge, he'd summon the janitor and have him calm the upset child. Tailgate really was so much better at soothing them than he could ever hope to be.

“That's so cute,” gushed Hound. He'd also left his station to admire the mechling, who had suddenly decided to clamber inbetween Tailgate's helm and cowl, excitedly squawking his first and only word. Even Ultra Magnus came over to see what the fuss was about.

Megatron was surprised to see that the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord's permanently stern expression had faded slightly into something a touch closer to a smile.

Tailgate was just thrilled that the mechling's first word had been for him.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 5: "Harassment, Encouragement, Embarrassment"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	5. Harassment, Encouragement, Embarrassment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While feeding Megatron's daughter in one of the lounges one evening, Tailgate is visited by several crew members. Their words will have consequences.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate sat in one of the lounges that capped a corridor of hab-suites. Megatron was on the bridge with Synthesis, but the captain had given Watch into the nanny's care... along with a bag of filtered energon he'd had Velocity synthesize. He could feed the bitlet himself instead of taking her to Megatron. Megatron was probably enjoying his break of having only one child to keep an optic on at the moment.

And Tailgate was doing just that, looking out of the window as he did so. It was so peaceful and lovely—the little femme in his arms wrapped in a thermal blanket, her optics shuttered and her mouth working eagerly at the nozzle of the pouch, the stars and a bright green nebula moving past the window, the soft pulse of the Lost Light's engines, the quiet of the late-evening shift all around

The quiet was broken by Drift and Rodimus, chattering excitedly on their way to Swerve's. As they passed and saw Tailgate sitting there, they paused to watch before heading on to a night of drinking and gamimg. “I'm glad you're looking after that little hellspawn,” Rodimus said, stepping closer to Tailgate. “You might be able to undo some of the mess that she'll probably become, given her parents.”

“Rodimus! Be nice!” Drift chided, astounded that Rodimus could be so unkind toward a tiny sparkling.

The captain huffed at his companion. “C'mon. Would you really want Whirl to father your child? Must have been an act of desperation.”

“Anything to do with Whirl is usually an act of desperation, but I'm sure she'll be just fine despite,” Drift said positively.

“From the rumors I heard, only Whirl would be crazy enough to 'face Megatron. Eh, those two deserve each other.”

Tailgate began shaking... in anger. But he didn't dare talk back to the captain, even if it was in defense of the innocent little sparkling in his arms. He was about to rise and go elsewhere, but his anger had not gone unnoticed.

Drift crouched next to Tailgate and put his hand gently on Tailgate's shoulder, holding him in place for a moment. “Ignore him. He had a bad day and he's just taking it out on a convenient target.”

Rodimus harrumphed and walked off, leaving Drift behind.

“Watch is a sweet little femme. Megatron even let me hold her a few times,” the swordsmech confessed. “Maybe her parentage is a bit unfortunate, but she'll turn out just fine, especially with you helping to look after her.” He patted Tailgate on the helm and headed off in the direction Rodimus had gone.

Tailgate immediately decided that he would take Watch back to Megatron's quarters the moment she was done drinking the contents of the pouch. But before that could happen, Skids and Nautica and Nightbeat happened by. Nautica was instantly drawn to the sparkling.

“Velocity's told me so much about her, and I've seen the pictures they've been putting in the Lost Light Insider.” She sat next to Tailgate, daringly reaching in to pet one of the baby's feet that had slipped from the thermal blanket Tailgate had wrapped her in. “And I heard that you're a perfect parent,” she said sweetly to Tailgate.

“Ah, thank you,” Tailgate replied, somewhat flustered. He was still somewhat worked up from Rodimus' attack, and he certainly wasn't used to such personal praise.

“Yeah, if she ever wants a sparkling of her own, she'll be calling on you to help her co-parent,” Skids laughed to Tailgate.

“Takes lots of transfluid,” grinned Nightbeat. “Hope you'll be up to it, Tailgate.”

When Tailgate 'eeped' in embarrassment and Nautica glared at them, the two other mechs couldn't help themselves but to tease further.

“Yep. Once you've sparked her, you'll have to 'face her at least twice a day. Think you can handle a femme? Especially a feisty one like her?”

“Guys... please.” Nautica huffed, rising to face them with her hands on her hips.

“Three times a day if you want the sparkling to grow up big and healthy.”

“Three times, Nightbeat? Thank goodness minibots have amazing stamina.”

“So I've heard,” Skids grinned.

Embarrassed by her friends, Nautica seized them by the arms and dragged them out of the lounge, apologizing to Tailgate as she hustled them away.

Tailgate sighed. What was taking Watch so long to finish feeding? The pouch wasn't that big but it was still half full. If she drank so slowly, no wonder her carrier fell asleep so often with her at his breast. As soon as she was finished, he could take her back to Megatron's hab-suite for a nap. This lovely and quiet lounge just wasn't as lovely and quiet as it had started out. Yes, he could just take away the pouch and move away now, but as peaceful and tolerant as she usually was, he had learned that she did not like to be moved or disturbed when fueling. That would result in the things Rodimus said being right.

Another set of footsteps caused him to look up, and he cringed when he saw Getaway standing in the hallway, looking into the alcove lounge. Someone else to come in and give him a hard time.

But thankfully Getaway only looked on, cocked his head thoughtfully, and then moved on with a nod.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“I'd like to donate some of my transfluid,” Tailgate told Megatron that night as he was finishing up his shift with the sparklings. He had been thinking about what Nightbeat and Skids had said earlier. And then he'd looked it up on the datapads Megatron had been given regarding sparkling care.

The two 'bots had not been wrong. Most experts recommended that a gestating mech receive at least two or three donations of transfluid a day from the sire. A nursing mech should receive at least two.

“Your transfluid?” Megatron eyed the minibot.

“To help with the babies. I was reading up on it. It's said that a mech feeding his sparkling should be receiving at least two donations a day. And I know you're getting that artificial stuff just once a day. And you're nursing two bitlets, which means you should probably getting twice as much as usual.”

“Velocity did up the dosage just after Watch's birth—to make it equivalent to two donations.”

“I know I'm not an expert, but that doesn't seem like it's enough still. And... Whirl isn't helping even though he sired Watch, and you don't have a conjunx or even a lover here...” Tailgate looked up sheepishly at the ex-warlord. “I thought maybe it was something I could do, to make sure Synthesis and Watch are getting what they need.”

“Would this be just a one-time donation?” Megatron asked curiously.

“On a regular basis. I know it will help the sparklings. You made it my job to help the sparklings.”

Megatron folded his arms over his chest. “I did. But that much of a sacrifice would be considered above and beyond the duties I expect of you as their part-time nanny.”

Tailgate looked over to where Synthesis was once again playing with his toys on the rug. Watch sat beside him, staring at her half-brother with much curiosity. Already her world was expanding beyond her carrier and her caretaker. “I'm doing it of my own free will. Not because you told me I had to. I know you're the Co-Captain and all, and I know that you...” He stopped. There was no need to repeat the details of Megatron's punishment. “But you've been forced—by Autobots—into this situation.” His hand moved to the Autobrand upon his chest. “I'm an Autobot too... and feel like I should be doing as much as I can to make this situation easier... for everyone. Especially the sparklings.”

Megatron stared at the anxious little thing. And then he smiled. The little janitor was everything the notes had reported. Had this little mech been around four million years ago, he wouldn't have made much of a warrior, but he would have made for a wonderfully loyal Decepticon. “Velocity can extract it from you, and then inject it into me by means of a tube right into the chamber, just as she's been administering the synthetic.”

“Doesn't that hurt? Not that I've ever had anything in my valve or chamber to know really.”

“Not much. Only a little when they're pushing the tube in.”

“What about... the extraction?” The minibot looked away embarrassedly. What would that involve? Was there a port that it could be drawn from? Or would he have to stick his spike into some suctioning device? Or perhaps a siphon that Velocity would insert into... Tailgate suddenly gave full-body shudder from head to toe. Maybe he should have thought this out more. “What about... uh... um... the normal way?” His voice grew quiet. “You know. Like interfacing. Would that be any better or help any more? If you wanted it that way, I could. It seems much simpler.”

“Interfacing's a bother,” Megatron said flatly.

Tailgate cocked his head. “I thought it was supposed to feel good. That's what I heard. And everyone seems to think having a regular partner for it is the best thing in the galaxy.”

“Maybe.”

His fingers fidgeted together in front of his chest. “Could we... try? I mean, I'd kinda like to try giving the normal way. I can't see that it would be any worse than having a medic do all the work. And... it's got to be easier and more efficient than having the medic do all the work.”

Megatron looked over at the minibot. He wasn't Whirl. He wasn't Optimus. He wasn't any of the few daring one-night stands that thought it might be fun to 'face the deposed emperor. Tailgate was charming and cuddly and very lovable. The bitlets loved him. Everyone seemed to think he was adorable. The times he'd come to the bridge to calm a crying sparkling, most of the bridge crew had come over to take image captures of him snuggling the tiny grey bitlet in his arms.

“You want to interface with me?” The thought bordered on ridiculous. Even when Tailgate drew himself up to full height he came to just above Megatron's knee joints.

“If... uh... if you wouldn't mind.”

Megatron wasn't sure whether he should laugh or stare or cringe or what. Tailgate had to be the bravest mech aboard the Lost Light. Or perhaps he was the fool-hardiest.

“Would you?”

“If you wish,” Megatron conceded. “I insist though that you have Velocity check you out first, to see if you're fit for donation.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 6: "What's Wrong with Being Innocent?"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	6. What's Wrong With Being Innocent?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Velocity checks Tailgate over to see if he's fit to donate transfluid. And then... then Tailgate makes some poor choices.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“You still have your caps, I see,” commented Velocity after Tailgate shyly opened his modesty panel for her.

Tailgate's fingers fiddled together in front of his chest. “Was I supposed to get rid of them?” he asked nervously, doing his best to look at the medibay ceiling and not at her. It was awkward enough already to be sitting on the slab, leaning back on his elbows, so she could check out his... bits.

“No-no. It's just surprising is all.” She reached between his spread thighs and gripped the upper cap, the one over his spike housing, and pulled it off with a firm tug. “Here you go,” she said, handing it to her patient. “Just keep holding that for the moment and...”

Velocity froze. And stared. “Did you ask Ratchet to replace your seals? I went over your files about all the work he did to you, but there was so much that I suspect not everything was listed.”

“Um, he said they were still there, but that the rubber material was falling apart, so he put together some fresh ones on for me.”

“Both seals were still there?” she asked. “He replaced both seals?”

Tailgate continued to look nervous. “I never had anyone to interface with before the accident. I mean, I had friends, and there were a lot of us waste disposal units, but we were all usually too busy to have relationships, or just relations.” His hands slipped down to cover his exposed array, suddenly embarrassed of his lack of experience.

“So you've never interfaced with another mech, and you're now wanting to do so with Megatron?” Velocity asked, the incredulousness in her voice unmistakable.

“For the sparklings. They need their carrier to be strong for them, and if I can 'face Megatron, it will help. At least I think it will help.”

Velocity shifted. “You're all right with Megatron being 'your first'?”

“I guess I just don't think it's that important. I just want to help. Those poor little sparklings need someone to love them, and they need both physical and emotional support.” He looked about the room nervously. “I don't think Megatron loves them that much,” he said in a quieter tone of voice. “I mean, he's not mean to them or anything like that. He'd protect them if they were in trouble. But he just feeds them and takes care of them without any sort of affection.”

The doctor sighed again and shook her head. “I can easily understand why.”

“So am I okay to donate?” Tailgate asked. Velocity had been scanning and detaching something down there while she'd talked.

“I'll need to draw a sample of your transfluid for screening, I don't expect anything to be wrong, but I will check since Megatron insisted. There is a concern given your struggle with Cybercrosis.”

“Have you checked anyone else's transfluid?” he asked. “He said that Whirl had been facing him until just before the birth of Watch.” His fingers fiddled nervously with the cap in his hands.

Velocity looked up at the minibot sitting on the berth, his intimate workings now completely bared to her. “Well, no. He's only requested that you be checked over.”

Velocity thought for a moment. “Tailgate, I suspect that it's not that he doesn't trust you. If you're not strong enough to be giving regularly, I believe he'd refuse,” she said slowly. Her hand closed over his knee. “I think it's that he cares about you.”

Tailgate drew his hands up to his chest, his spark fluttering excitedly. “You think that he might?”

“Maybe it's because of what you do for the sparklings, but you're a pretty likable 'bot.”

A flush of warmth flowed through his struts.

“Now let's finish up here, shall we?”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate stumbled along the corridors of the Lost Light, feeling light and giddy from Velocity's positive appraisal of his physical state, and that she'd said that Megatron might harbor some concern for him above and beyond what was expected of a captain for his crew. According to her he was fit to give transfluid. He'd left the medibay, and instead of heading back to habsuite 14, or even habsuite 113, he'd headed for Swerve's for a celebratory drink. Though now he was sure a lot of the light and giddy feeling had actually come from what Swerve had served him. And, note to self, never let Jackpot buy you one of whatever he's having, which tonight was what Trailcutter was having.

Yes, he knew he was completely overcharged and he felt great, but he hoped to Primus that Megatron wouldn't happen along and see him like this, staggering like... well, like an overcharged mech. The captain would probably be ashamed of him and put a swift end to his duties looking after the bitlets. Maybe he should have taken Getaway up on the offer to get him home safely. But of course he had to be stubborn and proud. Which he was now regretting.

So in order to avoid Megatron, he'd taken a roundabout route back to the habsuite he shared with Cyclonus. Maybe he should have pinged Cyclonus for assistance. And maybe he should ping Cyclonus right now, as he was completely lost. Maybe he should ping Nautica. They said she was good with maps, and the map he was looking at right now wasn't making any sense. It was right there on the wall with all sorts of useful things marked. But only if those markings weren't wiggling around. And if only he could read the Neo-Cybex they seemed to be written in. He was a mess.

But then he noted on a map that there was a shuttler-port tucked into an alcove nearby. If he could at least get to that, he could tell it where he needed to be, and it would drop him off there. And there was another shuttler-port conveniently just three doors away from his habsuite.

Turning in the right direction, he started down the hallway and found the port, pushing the button to summon it. The display indicated a two-minute wait, so he leaned against the wall to rest. Walking while inebriated was difficult. He wondered if mechs with bottom-heavy frames had the same problems as he had with his top-heavy frame.

But that was when he caught the movement out of the corner of his optic. Something had definitely moved in the dark space down a ways where the corridor curved. And then there were two red lights that shone briefly, spaced as if two optics were staring at him.

With a terrified squeak, Tailgate hit the panic button on the shuttler, which would drag the closest capsule to his point, occupied or not, and give him two kliks to board before closing again.

He looked down the hall to the shadowy area again, but it was completely still and dark.

“Just lights... just some random lights...” he told himself. The Lost Light was full of little lights, such as the ones on the annoying wall map he'd looked at so recently. They had appeared as optics, but they were too low for such. Unless there had been a mech down on the floor. Or it was a really small minibot.

A chime signaled the arrival of the shuttler capsule, and he leapt into it—only to be caught by Rung. “Tailgate!” the psychologist gasped. “What's wrong?” The overhead light in the capsule had a red glow, indicating it had been pulled into emergency service.

The minibot turned, and it was with much relief that he watched the door close behind him.

“Tailgate?”

“Do you wish to be taken to Medical Services?” asked the mechanical voice.

“No! Not there... I...”

“Do you wish to be taken to Security Central?” asked the voice this time.

Tailgate thought for a short moment. “No,” he answered.

“Your emergency destination please,” the voice asked.

“Um... I should...”

Rung moved carefully. “Tailgate? Is there something I can help you with?”

The minibot looked at the other mech, staring into the calm aqua blue optics. “Um, is it too late to have an appointment to talk? I think I need someone to talk to—to calm me down. And... maybe talk about some other stuff that's on my mind.”

“It's past my usual hours, but I'm available,” Rung said softly.

“And, I kinda need to sober up a bit too.”

“I noticed,” Rung said with a smile.

“Emergency destination please.”

Rung lifted his head. “Emergency cancelled. Please take us to Rung's office,” he said calmly.

“Destination acknowledged. Now shuttling to the port closest to Rung's office.”

The capsule gave a slight lurch as it began to move and Rung had to steady Tailgate. The minibot gave a little sob.

Rung put his arms around him and patted him on the back. “We'll be there soon, and you can tell me all about whatever's bothering you,” he said gently.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 7: "Doing My Best"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	7. Doing My Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My apologies. This chapter consists of 76% gratuitous Rung and Tailgate fluff.

-o-o-o-o-o-

It wasn't the first time Tailgate had seen the inside of Rung's office. Nor the second or third. He'd been there quite a few times before actually. Rung had helped him after Ratchet had repaired him the first time, right after the launch of the Lost Light. He'd woken to a Cybertron in which everything he'd known was gone, and now he found himself aboard a ship headed for another uncertain future—lost and alone in a time he'd never conceived of. There were other issues too... most ended up revolving around Cyclonus. And while it hadn't involved an office visit, there had been the cybercrosis and its impending doom. Rung was a regular fixture at the berthsides of the terminally ill.

Tailgate stretched out on the berth in Rung's office, nestling his head into a pillow. There were always lots of pillows there. Rung had once even gifted him a pillow, which he now kept on his own berth as a treasured possession.

“So, I know you're overcharged, but do you feel well enough to talk?” Rung asked. Actually, talking to inebriated patients could sometimes bring out information they wouldn't normally share. In many mechs, an overcharge brought with it a considerable drop in inhibitions. That drop meant they were frequently more honest with themselves and with him.

“I feel well... I just... Well, there's been a lot going on for me lately,” Tailgate said.

“Where would you like to start?”

Tailgate sighed. “Well, I guess I should start with the first time I met Megatron's daughter. I suppose that's where this all started.”

“I've seen the pictures.”

“I think everyone's seen the pictures.” Megatron's children were adorable, especially Watch, and both had nearly achieved celebrity status aboard the Lost Light despite the near-unanimous hatred of their carrier. Tailgate featured in a lot of them.

He began to tell the psychologist everything regarding his involvement with Megatron and his family, from the time he snuck into Megatron's room in the medibay and held the newborn sparkling, up until offering to interface with Megatron in order to provide transfluid to the nursing parent.

“So then Velocity said I was all right to donate, and that I could spike Megatron to provide the transfluid. But then Velocity seemed concerned and she asked if I was okay with that being my first sort of sexual experience ever. She asked twice in fact.”

“You've never had a sexual experience with another 'bot?”

“No.” His fingers were fiddling together in front of his chest again. “That's not so bad though, is it?”

“It's not normal for a mech of your age, but given that you were lying damaged and unconscious in a cavern for nine octads, it could be expected.”

“I guess I'm having a hard time with the whole idea that interfacing is something that special. I mean, I just pressurize my spike and stick it in a corresponding hole, and then I try to overload.”

“Technically that's what it involves... but for most mechs, there's also an emotional connection.”

“I have that to his children. They love me and I love them. Doesn't that count?”

Rung paused. Millions of years as a psychotherapist and a psychiatrist and a counselor and he'd never run into this sort of a situation. A mech wanting to start a relationship with another mech, simply to take care of his offspring. And this wasn't any ordinary mech. This was... this was perhaps the most influential mech that had ever changed the course of history. Any other guy, and the answers would be clear. But again, this was Megatron. “It's usually that two mechs want to interface because they love each other, or at the very least are sexually attracted to each other. Do you have any feelings for Megatron?”

“Like do I love him?”

Rung nodded.

“Well, I respect him and all. He's so famous and he's done so many things.” Tailgate let out a sob of sudden distress. “He started and led a revolution that nearly destroyed Cybertron and he's responsible for the near destruction of our race. I know he's done some horrible things, and now he lives in punishment. But he's been kind to me. Not loving, but kind.”

“Tailgate? Do you love him?”

“I think I might, someday, maybe, if things happened right, I might love him, if he keeps being nice. I've never been in love with anyone before. But I definitely love his children, and I want to make sure they grow up strong and healthy. Did you know that a nursing mech should be interfacing at least once or twice a day?”

Rung pinched his lip between his dentae. Tailgate was determined to look after Megatron's sparklings at any cost.

“I've got to do all I can for them. Have you ever held them? Synthesis—I actually chose his name for him—is just so smart and adventurous. And Watch, Whirl's bitlet, is just the sweetest little thing.”

“So you are comfortable enough with it to interface with Megatron. He's not forcing you to do this, is he?”

Tailgate looked astonished. “Goodness no. In fact I suggested it. I wanted to and I brought the idea up to him. What's so wrong with that?”

Rung shifted in his chair. “Because usually there is some sort of emotional connection between the mechs interfacing.”

“Well our connection is that he has children and I want to look after those poor little bitlets since neither Optimus or Whirl can be bothered to.”

“I suppose that's reason enough to want to interface with someone.”

Tailgate gave a snort of agreement.

Rung heaved a sigh, and then looked over his datapad. “So then, that just leaves one more question that I have for you. Why did you hit the panic button on the shuttler?”

Tailgate gasped. “Oh, that.” He rolled onto his side. “I thought I saw something. And I was lost and worried and something moved in the shadows, and I thought there was someone in that dark spot down the corridor. There were red eyes looking at me.” He tipped onto his back again. “It was just red lights though. I'm sure. I did have a lot to drink tonight.”

Rung chuckled.

“That's why I got lost. I was trying to get home some other way, so that no one saw me all Star Sabered. Especially not Megatron. I think that he'd fire me if he saw me drunk like that. It wasn't intentional though.”

“So you've learned a lesson then?”

“Definitely.” And then he rolled back onto his side to look at Rung. “Aaaaand... Rung? Do you think you could get me back home?”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Two days later, Tailgate and Rung sat in a bath of soapy water, the two of them intent on washing Tailgate into the cleanest he'd ever been in his little life. Tailgate had decided that when his shift began tonight, he'd make the offer to Megatron. Rung had agreed to help, both with Tailgate's plating and with a bit of encouragement.

“Now, you watched the videos, right?” Rung asked. He'd managed to drag up some old instructional files with unenthusiastic but completely explanatory titles such as “A Beginner's Guide to Sex” and “Interfacing Explained.”

Tailgate nodded. “That was kinda weird, but kinda exciting at the same time.”

“Good. It will make it a lot easier for you to do this if you're excited.” Rung dipped his scrub brush into the bathwater again and moved on to a wheel-hub.

“Rung, what if I can't make him overload?” he asked as the orange mech worked at a bit of something sticky caught up inside a fender.

“It's not important that you make him overload. For this, the donation of transfluid, the important thing is that you overload. He doesn't need to.”

“But I don't want him to be disappointed.”

Rung gave the minibot's shoulder a squeeze. “Look at it this way, you'll be better than the injector they've been using in the medibay.”

“I hope so. But what if I'm not? What if I suddenly get scared or lock up, or what if something goes wrong?”

“Tailgate. I've talked to Megatron about this. He knows it's your first time and he expects you to be awkward or to feel a little lost.”

“You talked to him?” Tailgate groaned and flopped forward into the bath.

Rung grabbed the cowling over Tailgate's head and pulled him back up out of the soapy water. “I felt I should, to save both of you from any misunderstandings or disappointments. And I wanted to make sure that he was completely okay with this as well.”

“I suppose you're right.”

Rung let Tailgate fall forward into the water again and then grabbed one of the minibot's little feet and began scrubbing the sole and ankle joints.

Tailgate lay on his stomach, submerged except for his right foot, thinking hard as Rung worked. It really was nice of him to assist. He'd thought about asking Cyclonus but then thought the better of it. And then the psychiatrist took on his left foot. When Rung put that back down, Tailgate sat up again. “Rung? I've been thinking. Should I pull off my seals?”

“Hmm... I'd say no. It would go a ways toward showing Megatron that you're quite sincere if either he removes your spike seal, or if you remove it in his presence. And there's no need to unseal your valve, so I'd leave that untouched.”

“Do you still have your seals?” Tailgate asked.

Rung blinked at him, a little startled by the question. Tailgate had been nothing but surprises since he'd come on board. “I don't,” he answered. “I haven't for a long, long time.”

“Do you have anyone you're partnering with now?”

Rung gave a short cough. “Ah, no. There are some professional limitations to my job here...”

“Maybe you should. I think it's great when people have someone to love. Someone who would appreciate you for how kind and wise you are.” And then Tailgate's visor narrowed mischievously. “Whirl's available,” he teased.

Rung answered with a splash of soapy water, which was returned in kind. And then somehow things broke down into a lot of splashing and laughing and playfully attempting to grab tires and kibble. And when the floor of the tub area was as wet as the inside of the tub, the two mechs discovered they were no longer alone. Getaway and Skids stood there, the latter smirking. Swerve was beside them, grinning like a madman as he waved from behind a camera.

And right behind the three was Megatron, his expression neutral.

Tailgate whimpered. All right, it wasn't as bad as if he had been caught the other night while drunk. But caught playing so childishly with Rung? Of course it had to be even worse for Rung.

“If you're finished with your own bath, would you mind bathing Synthesis?” Megatron asked, stepping forward with the two sparklings in his arms. “He made a mess of himself again.” The silver mech carefully placed his firstborn into the tub in front of Tailgate, the baby convoy squeaking excitedly at seeing his nanny.

“Cute sparkling vids!” cheered Swerve. “These are going right to the Lost Light Insider! They always post my stuff.”

Megatron gave Swerve a look that would have frozen a pyrobot in place.

“Well maybe not.” Swerve scurried out.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 8: "Losing It, Losing It, and Losing It"

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: I'm heading off to TFCon LA 2019 and this will be the last chapter for a while. For notes about TFCon, please see my profile. If you need something to keep you occupied while you wait for my return, try a few of my other stories. May I recommend:
> 
> "Understood" - A Tailgate/Cyclonus page-turner.  
> "AU August Challenge" - Much better than it sounds, lots of shorter stories with some interesting pairings and even more interesting settings. I'm partial to the three Ratchet/Nickel stories, though the two Seaspray ones are wonderfully unique.  
> "Queen of Spades" - Soundwave and Mindwipe and several cassetticons and an irresistible Chiroptacon in a complicated breeding contract.


	8. Losing It, Losing It, and Losing It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tailgate spikes Megatron. You know you can't not read this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just adding a little note here to explain a bit of the following chapters.
> 
> One: The original concept for this story came from author DarkSideOfTheSwamp, and I just sorta went with it because it was such a great concept. You can read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7468320/chapters/16971930
> 
> Two: Hasbro and Takara own the Transformers in all of its glory. I am not an affiliate or a licensed third party. I just sorta went with it because it was such a great concept.
> 
> Three: Starting with this chapter, some events will begin to bear a striking resemblance to events in the IDW comic series "More Than Meets the Eye" beginning with Issue #28 In fact a few scenes are very nearly pages transcribed. On occasion dialogue will be changed or rearranged to better suit this narrative. Characters will be reassigned roles as needed. However, please do not construe my work as the original. Consult this amazing series for the canon.
> 
> Four: JRo liked my TFCon cosplay, which has nothing to do with story in any way, shape, or form, but I just had to pat myself on the back for that.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tarn looked down at the datapad Helex had shoved into his hands. “Towards Peace?” Of all the things Vos and Kaon could have returned from Ofsted XVII with, they'd returned with this, as if he needed yet another copy. “I've read this a hundred thousand times. Helex, I've got the first edition mounted on my wall. I hardly think I need...”

“I said watch it. Not read it,” the smelter explained insistently. “There's some new footage at the end that you will not believe.”

Tarn moved to the final chapter... indeed a new one to him, opening it up to find a recording that had indeed not been present in any earlier editions of the warlord's pivotal work.

“It's Megatron, commander.” Helex's voice wavered. “He's defected.”

Tarn watched, his optics wide with shock and disbelief, as Megatron renounced Decepticonism, giving his reasons and then giving one final order before finally dissolving the faction with a command and surrendering completely.

And for a minute or two he stood there, staring at a blank screen that waited for a prompt.

And then he replayed that final, fateful missive.

And with a howl of strut-shaking anger and pain he flung the datapad into the wall. Helex beat a hasty retreat as the howl rose again and Tarn began tearing at the walls of the Peaceful Tyranny, his anguished screams of wrath echoing through the ship, the commander consumed by grief and madness.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The former emperor sat in his berth leaning against the wall, a heavy pillow cushioning his back. His knees were drawn up and spread apart. Tailgate had his hands on them to brace himself.

“Am I still doing this right?” the minibot asked, pausing yet again, his expression full of nervousness and concern.

Megatron nodded. “You're doing well.”

Optimus had performed dutifully. Whirl had thrown pent-up passions and vorns of anger at him, which had frankly made for some pretty amazing sex. Tailgate was... Tailgate was doing his best for a complete and utter virgin. Just after they'd climbed up into the berth he'd unexpectedly watched the mech uncap his spike and then peel away the cover over it. Once inside of him the tiny mech had overloaded twice and was frustratedly chasing a third climax that Megatron knew would never come. But he wasn't going to stop the attempt. Tailgate's proportionate and fresh-out-of-the-box spike felt pleasant enough. And minibots were known for their stamina; there just might be one more overload in there.

Perhaps at some point down the road he'd train Tailgate in the arts of interfacing. Not that it was needed for Tailgate's goal. The little mech just needed to get in and get off. But maybe it would be a thank you in exchange for the precious fluid support he'd so unselfishly offered. Some lover in the minibot's distant future would thank the unknown teacher, and then recoil in horror on learning just who had been Tailgate's teacher. The irony of the situation made Megatron smile. The sweetest little Autobot had willingly given his innocence to the biggest, baddest Decepticon of them all. And it had been beneficial to both of them.

“Are you sure it's all right that Watch is here?” He looked upon Megatron's opened chest where the tiny child was sucking sleepily at a feeding pouch.

“She's too young to comprehend or remember.”

Tailgate sighed and went back to working his hips. “If you say so.”

Megatron chuckled, smiling at the minibot between his legs. The whole situation was intrinsically strange and ridiculous. When this was over, he was going to kiss Tailgate on the flat of his head.

And then he shuddered—not in overload, but in surprise. Tailgate wouldn't get him to overload. But what was it about this little blue and white creature that stirred him to these thoughts and feelings? For the first time in aeons there was humor and sympathy and warmth and amusement running through his processors. Kissing? If he wasn't careful, affection and attachment would follow.

He thought of Terminus' words to him and cringed.

-o-o-o-o-o-

::I can't find Synthesis' blanket,:: Tailgate complained over the comm'.

Megatron sighed. His day had been filled with calls from the minibot for all sorts of petty things, most of which were simply friendly but pointless greetings. ::Which blanket would that be? I didn't know he had a specific blanket.::

::The blue one with the red stripes. It was one Ratchet gave me when he first repaired me at the launch of the Lost Light.::

::Oh, that one.:: He did vaguely recall the minibot wrapping the silver sparkling up in a blue and red blanket some nights before heading home. ::Well I don't know. You're the one who uses it. Not me.:: Honestly Tailgate's constant and clingy calls were getting annoying.

::And I also can't find the...::

::Tailgate!:: Megatron snapped. ::I'm trying to captain this ship. Can this wait until later, or does the fate of the galaxy hinge upon a missing blanket and the other things you seem to have misplaced today?::

There was a moment of silence. ::It can wait until later...:: he replied shamefully.

::Good. You know when my shift is over,:: Megatron said calmly. ::I shall return to my hab-suite then. And then we shall deal with any missing items, all right?::

::Of course, Captain.::

::Thank you.::

::And maybe later... maybe I could give another donation?:: Tailgate sounded hopeful instead of humbled this time. “For the sparklings.”

::We'll see. I have been doing better today.::

The quietest squeak of joy followed.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 9: "Taking a Bath"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	9. Taking a Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swerve's video has gone public thanks to the Lost Light Insider. Tailgate suddenly finds himself more popular in Megatron's opinion, and Rung suddenly finds himself the subject of a lot of attention as well.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Megatron sat on the bridge of the Lost Light feeling the best he had in a long time, his systems running smoothly on the artificial transfluid combined with Tailgate's efforts of the past two nights. Synthesis had suckled to his content all morning and now he was the only one recharging. Watch was currently at the left nozzle, drinking happily, her tiny hands gripping the feeding pouch. Even they seemed to notice the change. And it was certainly nice not to be fainting every time he fed them.

Distinctive footsteps approached the command chair. “You wanted me?” Tailgate looked over the situation with some puzzlement. Normally a call to the bridge meant a squalling sparkling would be shoved into his hands for calming. But both babies were quite content. Megatron himself seemed quite content.

“Tailgate, I wanted to show you this.” The co-captain passed over a datapad with the hottest article to hit the Lost Light Insider pulled up. The heading video showed Tailgate and Rung squirming about in the bathtub, suds and scrub-brushes flying. The laughter and excited cries were simply embarrassing.

“Ah, yes... Ah, Rung, and I just, well, you saw. We kind of got a little carried away.” His fingertips met over his chest. “I'm so sorry. I promise I'll behave myself in future.”

Megatron smiled down at him. “You're adorable.”

Tailgate looked up at him. “Adorable?”

The former-warlord nodded. “Will you be available tonight? Your personal assistance has done wonders.” Technically it was Tailgate's night off.

“The, uh, the...”

“Yes. That.” Megatron knew what he was trying to say. The rest of the bridge crew did not need to hear it.

Tailgate drew himself up. “I should be able to.”

“Excellent. And perhaps you could bathe Watch. She's probably old enough for immersion now.”

Tailgate perked up. Megatron wanted him for a 'face? And to give his daughter her first bath? Could life get any better right now?

Actually it could. For the life of him he couldn't remember where he'd put that cup and curly straw Swerve had loaned him. And he'd seen more of those red optic-like lights up in the pipes that ran along the top of a transit corridor. Creepy.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rung groaned as another ping alerted him to yet another patient signing up for a time slot. It had frequently been a challenge before to get his patients in for their appointments. Now his schedule was full. Very full. There were only five empty slots over the next duty week... well, only four now. Whirl had even filled himself in for a daily session.

Whirl.

Yes Whirl. He was sure Whirl was the one stealing the pillows from his office as well. Several of his ship models were missing as well.

That video was all to blame... the recording of himself and Tailgate playfully splashing about in the bathtub. Swerve was a wicked, wicked mech for sending it in to the Lost Light Insider. And yes it was all about that video. That had been confirmed today by the nature of all the newest sessions. Now his patients asked questions about him. He frequently caught them staring over at him whenever he buried himself in his notes. And sessions frequently ended with invitations to meet outside of his office. Drinks at Swerve's. A stroll around the lower decks. A visit to the oil reservoir. Movie night. A game of shuffleboard. A game of rollback. All the general 'date' activities.

Whirl naturally had been more blatant... “Why don't you and I make our own bathtub video sometime?” he'd said with a leer this afternoon. “I'll get you nice and soapy, and then you can scrub me... or I can scrub you. Unlike Tailgate I know what to do with a nice slippery mech. How about it, Eyebrows?”

Rung looked at the new appointment. Aquafend. Had to be another video-inspired appointment as the mech was about as normal and untroubled as they came.

Well, maybe it wasn't that bad. If a vaguely enticing video was what it took to get mechs in for the care and consultations they needed, perhaps this had been a positive thing.

Besides, they'll all forget soon enough. They always did.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 10: "Abandon Ship"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	10. Abandon Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarn's rampage comes to an end, while aboard the Lost Light, things have hit a critical point and Rodimus gives the order to abandon ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events aboard the Lost Light in this chapter coincide with issue #30 of "More Than Meets the Eye", while Tarn's ongoing story coincides with issue #39

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tarn sat in the snow outside of their base on Messatine, Megatron's addendum to “Towards Peace” running again and again through his processor.

Renounce.

Denounce.

We were wrong.

Do not expect wisdom, or guidance, or answers.

Discard your weapons. Tear off your badges. Stand down.

The war is over.

Move on.

Alone in the bleak landscape, Tarn cried the tears of a forsaken lover. He stared through blurred optics at the mask held in his hands—hands that had for the past three days been tearing apart the Peaceful Tyranny and their headquarters. The others had been very carefully avoiding his frenzied rampage, a rampage boosted by rounds of overcharging on whatever fuel fell into his hands. Only Nickel had dared to come close, but only when he'd become exhausted. She'd silently see to his repairs, shaking her head all the while, and then draw back into the shadows.

Megatron.

Megatron had abandoned him.

Inquiring further, Tarn had only discovered that he'd refused the rescue attempt at his trial and the loyal Decepticons that had made the attempt had either paid with their lives or their freedom. Megatron had paid for the refusal with a humiliating fate. Tarn had read and viewed with horror the news of the deposed emperor being forced to carry sparklings for the Autobots. Optimus, who'd handed down the sentence, had been the first to spark him.

The shame of it. Death would have at least left him with some dignity.

Chilled by the frozen air, the snow no longer melted on the mask in his hands, and a layer of white began to build up on it.

Tarn opened a comm' channel to Kaon. ::Kaon? Meet me in the fueling chamber.::

-o-o-o-o-o-

The alarms were blaring and the lighting in the public areas had switched to a disconcerting shade of red, indicating a critical state of emergency.

Rodimus' voice came over the ship's loudspeaker system. “This is your captain, and things aren't looking so good right now. I'm giving the command to abandon ship. You know the one. Get down to the shuttle bay and get yourself out of here. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.”

Megatron grunted in disgust. “Give me that,” he snapped and seized the microphone out of Rodimus' hand, bringing it to his mouth. “This is your co-captain speaking. This is not a drill. Abandon ship. I repeat, this is not a drill. The Lost Light is disintegrating. Proceed in an orderly fashion to shuttle bay one and await further orders.”

“Whatever. I said the same thing, didn't I?” Rodimus said with a shrug.

Megtron just glared and went back to the microphone. “En route you may discover that portions of the ship are missing. You may even encounter open space. It seems any protection from the vacuum shields is only temporary, as if...”

He was cut off by Rodimus grabbing his arm and yanking him away. “What are you doing?! Unhand me!” he spat.

“Grab your brat and and follow me,” Rodimus snapped, pointing at where a very confused-looking Watch sat in Megatron's seat, her yellow optics darting about nervously. “Oh, and for future reference, only bad guys say 'unhand me'.”

Glaring still, Megatron scooped up Watch and tucked her into the crook of his arm. He wished he could simply tuck her into subspace, but he was perpetually leery of the physical and meta-physical mess inside of himself. Losing her in the tangle of space bridges and wormholes connecting him to Primus-knew-what was too much of a possibility.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Down in shutttle bay one, Ultra Magnus was directing the crew into the flotilla of shuttle-craft, doing his best to keep everyone moving and calm through the evacuation.

Tailgate stood not far behind him, fretting and worrying, Synthesis clutched tightly in his arms. He'd been playing with the sparkling in Megatron's quarters when the alarms had gone off. Quickly grabbing some emergency bottles of filtered energon and stuffing them into what he'd dubbed the 'bitlet bag,' he'd moved as instructed down to the shuttle bay. There, Ultra Magnus had tried to chase him onto a shuttle right away, but he'd hesitated, waiting for Megatron and Watch. Cyclonus had joined him, nudging him slightly off to the side of the gangplank into a roundish red and yellow ship. “He'll be here soon, I suspect,” the ancient mech had counseled, looking down at the minibot.

“What if he isn't? What about Watch?” Tailgate continued to fret.

Cyclonus put his hand on Tailgate's cowl. “He'll be here. I know he will. And of course he'll have Watch with him.”

Tailgate tried to be patient, and it was disconcerting as the rush of evacuees dwindled to a last few stragglers. Most of the shuttles had already departed. But when he saw the bridge crew coming out of a corridor, the blackness in his spark lifted. Towering over them was Megatron and in his arms was his second-born. He couldn't help himself. “Megatron!” he cried out. “Over here! I have Synthesis!”

Megatron and half of the bridge crew broke away from Rodimus and headed for the round shuttle-craft.

“Is that everyone?” Rodimus asked Ultra Magnus as he surveyed the nearly empty hangar.

“All accounted for. An orderly and successful emergency evacuation if I must say so. Those training drills were definitely worthwhile.”

“Compliment yourself later, Mags. Let's get out of here.”

Megatron was hustling everyone with him up the gangplank, Tailgate in the lead followed by Cyclonus. And once on board, Megatron took a last look out at the shuttle bay. From the door of the only other remaining shuttle Ultra Magnus gave a wave. He turned to the helm, where Blaster had taken the pilot's seat and was firing up the controls. “Secure the hatches and get us out of here,” he commanded.

Blaster sealed the doors and fired up the engines, “The Rodpod is now departing what's left of the Lost Light,” Blaster announced to the nineteen other refugees now bracing themselves for takeoff.

Megatron took a seat next to Tailgate, handing Watch to the minibot, who took the infant with a flickering in his optics.

“Megatron?” Tailgate asked anxiously. “What's going on? Are we going to be all right?”

The big mech looked down at him. “I hope so, Tailgate. I hope so.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 11: "Adrift"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	11. Adrift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lost Light is gone, its crew adrift in shuttles. Tailgate at least has the sparklings and their sire with him. Rung finds himself in the company of two admirers. But how long will anyone last?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter coincide with events in Issue #31 of "More Than Meets the Eye."

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rung sat looking back over his shoulder through the window behind him at the empty swath of space where the Lost Light had been a mere breem ago. Next to him, a jet sat comforting a quietly weeping tank. For a moment Rung wondered if they were twins or perhaps conjunxed. Both wore the same color scheme of blue with roseate accents.

“It's starting again,” the tank moaned quietly, head in hands. “Why did I come? I should have just stayed on Cybertron.”

“Shhhh... it's all right,” the jet whispered. “We've been through worse...”

The tank protested. “For the moment. But it's going to get worse. We thought Overlord was bad, but this time we've got Megatron with us. And now the ship is gone. And any moment now Sixshot or Tarn or Devastator or some other horror is going to show up and tear us apart.”

The jet stroked softly at the tank's chest, doing his best to soothe him. And when he noticed Rung looking on, he gave a weak smile. “Doubletap's just having a bad day,” he explained.

“I think we're all having a bad day,” Rung replied. He took the tank's hand, giving it a squeeze of solidarity. “I think we'll pull through though. Somehow we always do.”

The tank looked up at him with teary optics, and then there was a light of recognition in them. “You... I know you.”

Rung cringed. Yes, the skinny orange 'bot in the bathtub with the little blue and white 'bot. Everyone seemed to know him now.

“You were shot by Fortress Maximus... that day he went psycho. We were in the medibay together.” The mech gasped as more memories surfaced. “You had your head blown off!”

The jet grinned. “And look at him now. All better and making sexy splashing bathtub videos. See, we'll pull through like he says.”

Ah, there it was. Well at least they had recognized him for something other than the video.

“That's right. The Lost Light Insider...” Doubletap visibly brightened.

“Well I must correct you on two accounts,” Rung said humbly. “I was actually hit by a stray shot in that confrontation. It was meant for Fortress. And that video...” He sighed for the umpteenth time over it. “I was helping Tailgate with a deep cleaning and things just got playful over a bit of teasing. We didn't realize that anyone else was in the washracks and unscrupulously recording us.”

Hmmm... Swerve was to blame on both counts.

“Well I didn't know about the shooting. We were both in the medibay. Fortress had shot us just before that. Apparently we both bear just a bit too much of a resemblance to Overlord. He shot some other guys too. And then when you were brought in we kinda just assumed he'd gotten you too.”

“I liked your bathtub video...” said the tank quietly, his worry fading away.

Rung forced a smile. “I think a lot of people liked it.”

Again, if that video was going to help people, perhaps it really had been a positive thing.

“I'm Turbine, by the way,” said the jet, extending a hand around Doubletap in greeting. “Nice to get to talk to you, even if under such unfortunate circumstances.”

“I'm a psychiatrist. It usually happens that I meet people under unfortunate circumstances.”

Turbine gazed out of the window at the empty space. “And things seem very unfortunate right now.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

At the side of the Rodpod's passenger bay, Tailgate sat feeding Watch, keeping his optics on the rest of the occupants as they nervously milled about. Most had grouped into pairs or trios to theorize, or just to gossip. Megatron stood at the center of it all—the co-captain at the helm next to Blaster, the two trying to get or stay in touch with the other shuttles while guiding the efforts to figure out what had gone wrong.

This journey. That's what had gone wrong. From the moment he'd woken up in Ratchet's medibay to the present, some misfortune or horror had lurked around every corner. If only there had been a sober prediction or a clairvoyant prophesy or even a warning from some future voice to stop the launch.

And then the lights went out.

Great. Now what?

But they weren't off for more than a moment. When they came back on there was some sort of disturbance over by Cyclonus. And then everyone was upset. When Gears pulled a pistol on Megatron, Tailgate gave a small whimper.

More shouting followed. Ratchet was trying to prevent a fight. Riptide had a pistol on Megatron. Cyclonus inserted himself into the middle of the confrontation, also trying to prevent things from escalating into a shoot-out. Huffer had a pistol aimed at Cyclonus. Hound was pulling a gun on Nautica.

Tailgate looked quickly to Synthesis, napping through the noise on the bench beside him. He had to move the sparklings quickly to get them to safety. If this situation did blow up, they would be vulnerable. If Megatron ended up dead, Tailgate would be the only one to take care of them properly. Quickly he clutched Watch tightly, snatched up Synthesis, and retreated to the furthest place in the cabin he could find, tucking the pair into a corner. 

Watch of course immediately began crying at having lost her pouch of filtered energon—it had fallen somewhere in the attempt to move them to safety. Tailgate tried to comfort her, offering her his fingertip to suck on. That trick would work for a short while at least. And then the shots sounded behind them—four shots from two different blasters. Tailgate curled in over the sparklings to shield them as much as possible.

Suddenly there was silence.

Tailgate breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps it was over. When cries of sorrow didn't follow he fetched Watch's bottle, took her up into his arms, and resumed feeding her. Synthesis began crawling about the floor. And then he crawled toward Megatron as his carrier approached, grabbing onto his leg when close enough.

“Tailgate? Is everything all right?”

The blue and white minibot stood up, glaring at the big mech. “Why? Why did you let that happen? Aren't things bad enough all ready? What if someone had gotten shot?!” he demanded, not even attempting to control the anger. And then he noticed the black... something in Megatron's hands.

Megatron crouched. “It's over now. Everyone's a bit stressed, understandably.” He gently lay whatever it was he was holding down next to Tailgate, and Tailgate saw it was a medium-sized mechanimal—a rather dangerous looking cat-former. “This is Ravage. I know you have your hands full, but could you keep an optic on him as well? Just make sure no one moves him.”

Tailgate stared. “Where did he come from? Who is he?”

“An old friend, you could say.”

“Was he a Decepticon?” Tailgate was eyeing the new arrival suspiciously, peering for markings.

Megatron did not answer the question. “I need to rejoin the others. It seems things are only going to get worse.” And then he reached over an placed a hand on Tailgate's helm. “Thank you Tailgate, for doing so much for the bitlets.” He rose and strode back over to the group, taking Synthesis with him to where now everyone seemed agitated about some new development.

Tailgate sighed and looked down at the cat-former. Even unconscious he looked threatening, what with those sharp claws and powerful jaws.

And then he settled with his back against the wall, holding Watch as she finished her meal and as the others dealt with the fact that not only Crosscut had gone missing, but then six others had as well. He managed to keep himself calm when Cyclonus disappeared as well, but only by throwing up a shield of immunity in his head, telling himself to focus on the sparklings as the center of his world. They were the important ones in his life. If he could focus on them and on looking after them, nothing else mattered.

When Watch began wailing, Megatron looked over from the proceedings to see what was the matter. To his chagrin he found Tailgate gone. His daughter sat there on the floor looking confused and upset yet again, crying unhappily at having been dropped.

Nautica noticed as well, and she hurried over, scooping up the baby and cradling her against her own chest, cooing softly to try to calm her down.

Skids leaned into Nightbeat. “From quantum mechanic to perfect carrier in three point five astroseconds... What do you think? Should I just start courting her when this is all over or just straight-up propose?” he whispered to the detective. “What do you suppose would be appropriate in Camien culture?”

Brainstorm smirked. “I think you should just let me have her, provided I make it out of this alive.”

Across the room, Megatron sighed. “So long, Tailgate,” he whispered.

-o-o-o-o-o-

""Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 12: Decepticons

-o-o-o-o-o-


	12. Decepticons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarn's suicide attempt is interrupted, and as Megatron feeds his sparklings, Ravage confronts him about his taking of the Autobot badge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based around “Troska” in issue #39 of MTMTE and on the conversation between Ravage and Megatron in issue #32.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The comfort of a full charge of nuke had eventually risen to the pleasure of an overcharge, which had then given way to discomfort, and then to pain. And now as the pain shifted into something more complicated, Tarn found his thoughts drifting backwards. He saw his life floating past—moments of his history dancing before him in a pageant of personal meaning. Reminiscences? Hallucinations? Data purge?

And what made him tremble was that as his spark began to contract, he found himself now completely grasping his own mortality. One plain thought began to loop through his processors—that this was it. Despite everything he'd endured and survived, his time had come and it was at his own choosing.

And Tarn found himself somewhat disappointed by the experience. No, not the experience of his life, but the experience of his death. He could feel himself quietly slipping away. No drama. No struggle. Death seemed a mere corridor from one place to the next.

But then again, what had he expected? Bright light? Music? A vision?

A dull rapping suddenly sounded on the chamber, and he opened his optics. Who dared interrupt his suicide?

The doctor. That handsome Autobot doctor. He stood there, his face cold and bitter. And then he turned and said something to the mech beside him.

That would be Helex... the walking smelter. As Tarn's optics brightened, the smelter moved in.

Tarn reached up to Helex's face where it hovered before him, mouth open in cries of anguish.

Three-fingered hands gripped at the chamber. The mouth moved in speech, seemingly aimed at Pharma, but of course Tarn could not hear the words. The coolant fluid surrounding him dampened most external noise while the hum of the chamber itself covered almost all else.

At least someone would miss him.

He slid one hand across the thick concave glass, pressing it to Helex's. A final adieu.

The expression of anguish became one of despair.

Tarn let the hand fall. Beyond Helex he could see Pharma still snarling. With him now were the others—Tesarus, Kaon, and Vos. So they'd all come to say their silent goodbyes. He watched as Helex's hand fell as well.

No... it wasn't falling. It was winding up. Moments later that hand came breaking through the glass, shattering the face of the chamber.

The connection cables automatically disengaged and Tarn fell forward, slumping into Helex's arms. Pharma stepped up and immediately plugged into a medical port to scan him even as Helex lay their leader out carefully upon the floor.

“Tarn! What were you doing? What were you even thinking!?” Helex spat.

Tarn couldn't help but smirk beneath his mask. The smelter sounded angry but his optics were full of tears.

“I was trying to commit suicide before you so selfishly interrupted me,” Tarn said, his normally smooth, confident voice full of static and bewilderment.

His answer was met with mumbles and whispers from the others.

“This is about Megatron, isn't it?!” Helex grumped. “Open your eyes, Tarn!”

“I did. And I saw that our mighty leader had abandoned us. He'd fallen and given in to his enemies. My life had been lived for him—our lord and founder—and he'd been vanquished. There is nothing else for me now. Now could someone just shoot me through the spark? I was almost there.” He made and effort to open his chest but the servos were not responding to the commands.

Pharma muttered something to himself.

Helex groaned. “Megatron did not abandon us!” He grabbed Tarn by the shoulders. “Can't you tell when someone's being forced to make a statement!?”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Megatron sat down upon a crate in the store room, made himself comfortable, and then opened his chestplates so the two babies could nurse. If they were going to be stuck here for a while, he might as well take care of the inevitable. Hungry, the two grabbed tightly for the feeding pouches and began to drink immediately.

Ravage snorted in disgust and then moved off to the storeroom's door, studying it closely. Then he began to pace.

“I know you hate to be contained, but there's no harm in sitting tight while Skids and the others try to work out what's going on,” Megatron said, trying to console the cat-former.

“It's you!” the cat snarled. He walked up and glared at Megatron, and by the seething look in the Ravage's optics, Megatron was sure he would have taken a swipe at him were it not for the bitlets in his arms. He'd swiped at Nautica earlier. “You betrayed us! You betrayed me! What's happened to you!? What have they done to you!?”

Megatron only sighed.

“Is it shadowplay? Is that what this is? Did they brainwash you?”

“It's not shadowplay. And I'm sorry if that disappoints you.”

Ravage began to pace again. “We believed in you. We dedicated our lives to you.” His tail swished angry arcs through the heavy air.

“Not to me. To the Decepticon cause,” Megatron corrected.

“You are the Decepticon cause. At least you were. The Megatron who tore down the senate. Who emancipated millions. The Megatron we followed. The Megatron we loved.”

Megatron could not miss the disappointment in the cat's statement.

The cat ceased his pacing, and his voice grew quiet but the questioning intensity in his optics was all the stronger. “What happened to him?”

Megatron looked down at the two sparklings he'd carried—one sired by his greatest nemesis, the other sired by the mech that had so cruelly pushed a miner with grand dreams into becoming a violent revolutionary—and he watched them suckle. “I became an Autobot,” he said eventually.

Ravage drew close again. “But why? If you'd had a change of heart, you could have become a civilian—a Cybertronian. No more. No less. Why switch sides? So they could do this to you?” His paw gestured at the two sparklings. Watch was moving around a bit, already deciding she'd had enough.

Megatron grabbed a towel and wiped her tiny face. She seemed to have settled on white and silver as her predominant coloration while her small bit of blue trim matched Tailgate's almost perfectly. Her optics however matched her sire's in the way that Synthesis' did. Finishing his cleaning, Megatron spoke slowly. “I once told Optimus that I killed for the sake of killing. I wanted to make him hurt me, because I know that when he hurts others, he hurts himself.” He put the towel back into Tailgate's bag and then took out a blanket. “And the thing is, when those words were in my head I didn't think I meant them; but when they left my mouth, I realized that I did.”

Ravage watched as Megatron awkwardly draped the blanket over his lap, and then lay Watch upon it—the tiny golden-eyed femme that had been conceived in such humiliation. He'd seen for himself the desperate depths Megatron had sunk to in order to carry her.

“If the world thinks you're a monster, what does it matter? The world is wrong.” He folded the edges of the blanket over Watch as she began to settle into recharge. “But when you start to think of yourself as a monster...” He brought the bundled femme back up to his chest, cradling her back into his arm. “I came to hate the person I'd become. And I decided that the best way to leave that person behind—maybe the easiest way—was to become an Autobot. Becoming a carrier has helped the transition as well. Childbearing forces one into a certain degree meekness.”

Ravage could not believe what he was hearing. Soundwave had sent him to spy—to watch and wait until he could be certain that this new Megatron was the real Megatron. And if it indeed was, Ravage had been ordered to put him out of his misery. And in the months since coming aboard the Lost Light, he'd mostly observed his target just sit in his room and think.

And think.

And think.

Eventually Ravage had decided that Megatron no longer had any idea who he was. After millions of years at the head of the Decepticon cause, he'd lost his grasp on his identity.

“You're not a monster, and we all have wobbles,” Ravage assured him. “All of us, from time to time, have wobbles and we all question what we're doing. It's part of being a Decepticon. You've said so yourself.” He put his paw upon Megatron's knee. “In years to come—when we've won—you'll remember this conversation and laugh.”

Megatron gave a cough of a laugh right now. “When we've won? The war is over, Ravage. Over and done with.”

Ravage drew himself up. “We've been carrying on with out you. Galvatron has plans.”

“Galvatron? You put Galvatron in charge?” Megatron scoffed.

“He wants to create a new Decepticon empire.”

Megatron laughed loudly enough to disturb Synthesis from his feeding. “Well then! Off you go. Go build the brave new order. Push! Push on!” Somehow even with a child in each arm he manged to form one hand into a fist and point at the door with the other.

Ravage did not rise to the bait. “The moment you tell me that this is a trick—that 'Megatron the Autobot' is part of some larger plan—then Galvatron's gone. He's a caretaker. An understudy. Nothing more.”

Megatron suddenly deflated, sitting back down on the crate and slumping forward. “Look at me, Ravage.”

The cat obliged, gazing up at mech he'd been looking at for the past six months.

“I'm old. I'm old and weak. Bearing these sparklings has drained me to the point of brittleness. But even without them, even if I'd never carried, I'm long past my prime. My spark flickers where it once flared.” He looked down at himself, past where the pouch of filtered energon jutted so strangely and tiny hands were clawing for purchase on it once again. “And this nonsense body. It doesn't graft to the spark as it should, not after the reformattings. Not after everything Shockwave did to me.”

Ravage held his gaze. “I don't like to hear you talk like this,” he said sadly.

“Why?”

“Because it's not you.”

“Ravage, face the facts. Megatron—that Megatron you once knew and loved—is dead.”

The thumping of Ravage's tail against the floor sounded like a drumbeat. “Dead? Or just resting?”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 13: "Reunions"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	13. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the universe returns to more or less normal, Tailgate is reunited with Megatron and the children. But with the return there comes a new roommate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Odd Trivia: The title of this fic comes from the beautiful instrumental piece “Strange Constellations” by Bombay Dub Orchestra. A lot of my works have some odd musical connection to them that reflect my rather eclectic listening choices.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate gradually became aware that someone was holding him, and as his optics booted properly he found a wall of detailed silver before them. Hands were tapping his back with cries of welcome.

“What happened?” Tailgate asked. “I feel like I've been in recharge for a thousand years,” he said groggily. And then he gasped. “Oh god! I wasn't in a cave again, was I?!” He looked up into the visage of a softly-smiling Megatron.

The others around him laughed. “No, not this time,” said Ratchet, patting him on the helm.

“Oh thank goodness,” Tailgate grinned.

“Tay-tay!”squealed an unmistakable voice, and Tailgate looked up again, refocusing his optics to see the silver mechling clinging to Megatron's shoulder above him, happiness in his red optics

“I think Synthesis missed you the most,” said Megatron.

“Oh I missed you too, little one!” Tailgate cheered. And then suddenly he gasped. “Watch?! Is Watch here?!”

“Right here!” said Hound, handing the little femme up to him.

Tailgate took her and cradled her, nuzzling their nasal ridges together. He wasn't sure why, but everything felt like some amazing reunion. “What happened? What's going on?”

“Crisis averted. We seem to have saved the day once again,” explained Skids.

“That doesn't tell me much. Where was I? Was I in some sort of stasis?” Tailgate asked.

Megatron gave a low chuckle and set the minibot down. “I'm sure Nautica would be happy to explain later, if you're up to a bit of quantum mechanics.”

Tailgate shuddered. Earlier she'd been explaining to the evacuees just what it was she did, and most of it had been beyond him. “Maybe later,” he squeaked. He wasn't sure he could take any more wibbly-wobbly, sciency-wyency stuff right now.

Megatron handed Synthesis down to his nanny, and the sparkling wrapped his arms around Tailgate's head, and then he scooted back into the space between that and Tailgate's cowl.

Tailgate moved off to the side, settling on a crate with the bitlets. He noted how heavy Synthesis was getting. It probably wouldn't be long before he was unable to carry the mechling in his cowl. And it probably wouldn't be long either before Synthesis was learning to drink standard energon. Once the bitlet was weaned, Megatron's energy levels would improve even more.

But then he'd be ordered to conceive again and the miserable cycle would repeat itself. Tailgate looked over to Megatron, wondering who would sire the next sparkling. Right now everyone seemed in high spirits and even a little more accepting of the ex-Decepticon. Nautica was standing right next to him, even putting her hand on him at times. She had always seemed to trust him somewhat more than a lot of the other crewmembers. She also seemed to have more interest in the sparklings than most of the others. Though quite likely the next sire would be one of the bridge staff as they'd worked with him more closely and gotten to know him a bit better than most of the crew. Blaster and Siren might be in the running for that matter. And Hound was always just so nice. And while not bridge staff, Velocity might also be a good candidate, though she'd refused Megatron before.

Deep in his spark Tailgate felt a twinge of jealousy. A shame he was just a minibot. It would really be nice to be an even closer part of the family. Synthesis and Watch were special, but a Tailgate Jr. would be even more so.

Blaster interrupted his thoughts with a summoning from the communications station. “Tailgate? Could you please bring Watch over here?” Megatron was standing next to him, scowling at the console.

Tailgate carefully got to his feet. Walking carefully for the heavy imbalance caused by Synthesis reclining in his cowl, Tailgate made his way to the station. “Show Whirl that his hellspawn is just fine,” huffed Megatron, gesturing to the monitor.

It was at that point that Tailgate realized the yellow dot filling seventy-five percent of the monitor was actually Whirl's optic, which then jerked back, revealing more of the mech. “Don't you dare call her hellspawn!” Whirl shrieked, but then he spoke more calmly. “Not until she's had her first kill in battle! Then you may call her hellspawn.”

Tailgate held Watch up in the direction of the camera for her sire's scrutiny, her limbs dangling.

“All right. Fine,” Whirl huffed, apparently satisfied at the infant's condition. “Good to see that her carrier didn't lose her in whatever that was that just happened.” The eye suddenly filled the screen again. “Because if he did, I'd have to kill him, and then bring him back to life so I could kill him again,” Whirl hissed in a sinister voice. “And I'm good at killing, but not so good at bringing people back to life.” 

“I love you too, Whirl,” said Megatron with a sneer, who then leaned over and cut the communication.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Ravage will be staying with me now,” Megatron announced, leading the way into his quarters, Tailgate and Ravage trotting along behind him.

“It's going to get crowded in here,” Tailgate commented, glancing at the cat-former. Awake he looked five times as dangerous as he did when unconscious.

“Hardly,” answered the cat.

As Tailgate put Synthesis into his cage-like playpen he gave Ravage a stare of distrust.

“You don't have to look at me that way,” Ravage huffed indignantly. “I've been here six months spying on Megatron. And on you and the sparklings. If I'd intended you any harm, I've had thousands of opportunities to act upon it you realize.”

“You've been here that long? Staring at us like some creep.” Tailgate suddenly sucked in a deep ventilation. “You've seen us... in the berth... we...” His visor flaring white with embarrassment, he looked up at Megatron.

Ravage laughed wickedly, the way a cat should. “I've seen everything. But don't let it bother you. You'd be amazed at what all goes on behind closed doors on this ship. Your little 'donations' have been frankly quite boring to watch.”

Tailgate gave a squeak of embarrassment and Megatron scowled. “Enough, Ravage.”

A beeping broke the tension that was about to turn awkward.

“I'm being summoned to the bridge,” Megatron said after standing in silence for a while, concentrating on the private comm'. “Something about the planet we're orbiting.” He looked down at the two. “I'll be back when this has been dealt with. I see you already have a shift of your regular work coming up, Tailgate, but would you please stay here looking after the bitlets until I return. I'll excuse you for any lateness.”

“Certainly, Megatron.”

The co-captain gave Tailgate's head a familiar pat before striding away.

The moment the door was closed, Ravage leapt onto the second berth and settled upon the blanket folded at the foot of it.

Tailgate scowled. “That's Synthesis' blanket,” he huffed. “Not yours.”

Ravage sighed. “Look, Tailgate, let me just say a few things now before you get all wound up. Yes, I am a Decepticon. And no, I'm not about to kill you the moment your back is turned. But I'm not about to give up my faction either.”

“So then leave.”

Ravage shook his head. “Megatron asked me to stay. As his ally.”

“To stay? His ally?”

His red optics narrowed. “We discovered something horrible. While you and most of the crew were 'away' we discovered something truly horrible. I don't know if there will be a report of it or not. This may be something the command staff wants to keep quiet.”

“Something horrible? What something horrible?”

“There are monsters out there, Tailgate. Overlord was aboard this ship, and I heard what happened. You know what he did, right?”

Tailgate shuddered. “Yes... he... he...” He could not bring himself to finish the sentence. So many had fallen to the phase-sixer's rampage.

“Now imagine that happening to the entire crew. Something done by an even greater monster.”

Tailgate clutched at his chest. Even greater? Something more evil than Overlord?

“Megatron may be your only real defense against such monsters. And I have chosen to stand by him in that.”

Tailgate stared as the cat rested his head upon his forelegs. “I have to ask you one thing though. Maybe you'll protect Megatron, but will you defend the sparklings against these monsters?”

Ravage shuttered his optics. “Megatron insisted that I do.”

Tailgate exhaled a deep, calm exhalation. He still didn't really know what had happened during the elapsed time he and most of the crew had been missing, but perhaps now after what the cat had said he didn't want to know. “Thank you, Ravage.” He turned to go see to Synthesis, who was banging on the bars of his playpen.

“One more thing though, Tailgate,” Ravage called after him, not opening his optics however.

“What's that?”

“Though Megatron wears an Autobot badge, be warned. The Decepticon in him may just be resting.”

“What!? What do you mean by that!?” Tailgate moved to the berth, gripping the edge of it next to the cat.

Ravage gave a sinister chuckle. “Decide where your own loyalties lie, little Autobot. Someday you might have to make some painful decisions.”

“Ravage? What's going on? What do you mean about Megatron?”

“Go see to Synthesis. I think he's hungry. And I'm sleepy. Good night.” Ravage gave a purr of comfort and dropped into recharge, still curled upon Synthesis' blanket.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 14: "Discoveries"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	14. Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a world far away the Scavengers come across a survivor in the ruins of Prion. On the Lost Light, Cyclonus has some complaints about the work load Megatron has been saddling Tailgate with.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Grimlock lifted the fallen wall panel and Krok peered beneath it. The Autobot had become an indispensable tool in their scavenging operations. “Score!” he exclaimed.

“Find something good under there?” Misfire asked, coming in close.

“Looks like a bunch of mini-corpses.” Of course they were almost all mini-corpses here on Prion. The originators had birthed only minicons. Krok lifted his head. “Keep holding the wall, Grimmy. I'm going under to grab some of these. Give me a hand, Misfire, would you?”

The two Scavengers crouched and dragged the closest frames out and then went back for more. On their third trip, Krok gave an odd hum. “Hey, this one... I think he's still alive.”

“Really?” asked Misfire.

“Yeah... Something of a field flared up when I grabbed him.” Krok dragged a small vehicle the rest of the way out into the weak sunshine.

“There's no one alive here but us, Krok. Black Block Consortia saw well to that,” Misfire assured him. “Nothing survived the attack.”

Krok tried not to think about it. If the Consortia could wipe out a stable colony such as Prion, what chance did any of Cybertron's weak and scattered people have? “No one but this little guy here,” he said, kneeling beside the minibot and placing his hands upon the storm-grey frame. “There's a definite EM field.”

Misfire hunched over the rounded vehicle. “You awake, little guy?” he asked.

“He seems to be in decent shape, but he does have some frame damage.”

Fulcrum and Spinister had come over to see what the others had become so interested in, gathering around the tiny vehicle—some sort of land-buggy.

Krok stood and gave his next command. “You can put the panel back down, Grim.”

The Dinobot let it drop, causing everyone to jump. 

“Note to self... use the word 'gently' next time,” Krok sighed. And then he called to Spinister who was deftly stripping a corpse of bolts. “Spin! C'mere and see if you can wake this guy up.”

The big purple mech came over and stared. “Triple changer. I don't like triple-changers. You can't trust them.”

Krok smirked. “You trusted Flywheels.”

“Hardly,” was the cynical response.

“Well you're in luck Spinister,” he said, pointing down at the minibot. “Retractable wings.” His hand moved. “Aquatic propulsion foils.” The hand moved again. “All-terrain wheels.” 

Spinister cocked his head, unsure of what the captain was saying.

“So unless this guy doesn't have a primary-mode, you're looking at a quad-changer.”

“Oh, well that's different,” the rotary said enthusiastically and began pawing at the strange little vehicle. And then he paused... “And not a zombie?”

Krok moaned into his hand, as did Fulcrum. “No. Not a zombie.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Cyclonus stalked onto the bridge, coming to a halt in front of Megatron. “You wished to see me?” Megatron asked. It was an odd request the ancient warrior had sent. Cyclonus had had few words for him since he'd been installed aboard the Lost Light.

“I wish a moment of your time regarding something I think should be addressed.” Cyclonus said formally, trying not to stare at the silver sparkling suckling at the energon filter beneath Megatron's chestplate. He supposed the bridge crew was used to seeing Megatron feed his children while perched in the command chair. For him it was still awkward. This was not the Megatron he envisioned.

“Of course, Cyclonus,” the co-captain nodded.

“Privately, please.”

Megatron cocked a brow ridge. Tetrahexian formality. “Certainly.” He stood, not even trying to dislodge the hungry mechling that almost gnawed at the nozzle. He led the way to the executive office. Settling himself in the chair behind his desk, he shuffled Synthesis into a comfortable position. And then he looked up at his visitor. “Yes?”

“Tailgate.”

“Tailgate?”

Cyclonus did not miss the ripple in the former emperor's EMF.

“What about Tailgate?”

“What work are you giving him? He goes off to his duty shifts, then heads for your habsuite to see to your children. When he eventually staggers home he collapses into his berth and is out until his alarms wake him for work again.”

The ripple reappeared, but with more of a jolt now.

“Is there something wrong?” Megatron asked.

“Sometimes he doesn't even make it home at all. I've found him twice in the halls now—once passed out upon a couch in a lounge and once just recharging in his altmode in a service gutter.”

“He's a very curious and enthusiastic little mech. You are fortunate to have such an entertaining roommate.”

Cyclonus placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward on them. “He told me that he was coming to look after your sparklings every day after his shift—spending cycle after cycle with your little family. But he wouldn't say any more.” His optics shifted to Synthesis, where the mechling was finishing drinking. Megatron drew a cloth from subspace and wiped his son's face. “You didn't trick him into feeding the newsparks somehow, did you? We've all noticed that your energy levels have been up lately despite your feeding of two children.”

Megatron didn't react, but only continued to clean Synthesis' face.

“Well?”

“Tailgate has been spending time with me. And yes he has been feeding the bitlets, but not from himself. Only through a pouch Velocity fills for him. He has however been voluntarily donating a daily measure of transfluid to the Autobot cause of re-population.”

Cyclonus stiffened and his neutral expression became a glare, his optic ridges tilting angrily. “He's burning out. You're letting him give too much.”

“The amount he gives is not my concern. I am simply there to receive any kindness an Autobot chooses to bestow.”

“Tailgate's just a minibot. He can't give as much as a full-size mech. On top of that, he was cybercrotic. Perhaps he's been cured, but a certain fragility remains.”

The voice was calm and unconcerned. “He gives willingly. And he indeed helps me with the sparklings. They adore him.” Megatron looked down at Synthesis, who was poking at the feeding nozzle, perhaps debating whether or not he was actually done with his meal. He stroked the mechling's nasal ridge, getting his attention. “You adore Tailgate, right?” he asked the tiny thing. “Tailgate?”

The mechling looked up, forgetting about the nozzle, and broke into a broad smile. “Tay-tay!” And then he looked about. “Tay-tay?” The smile faded as he did not spot the minibot in the office.

Megatron grinned at the purple flyer. “See? Adores him.” He closed up his armor, deciding that the baby was done, at least for the moment.

Cyclonus crossed his arms over his chest. “I am assuming you're accepting that donation in the traditional manner.”

“Is that what's bothering you?” The smirk was wicked. “Did you have your own designs upon him?”

Cyclonus was unflappable. “If he wishes, the donation and his chosen method of giving it is his decision. However, I will insist that you allow him more time to recover.”

Megatron shuffled Synthesis, the mechling becoming a bit upset that Tailgate was not present, patting him gently in distraction. “Your concern is noted. And I will relay that information to him as well. You may wish to speak to him yourself.”

Cyclonus only gave a quick harrumph and stalked out of the office.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 15: "Waking Up"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	15. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung goes out on a date. The Scavengers bring their latest find aboard the Weak Anthropic Principle.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Turbine was waving to Swerve in hopes of getting a bit of service. It was a busy night at the bar and it might be a while before the minibot noticed.

Rung looked over the table at his date, somewhat surprised at this whole situation. He'd actually allowed himself this—an actual date. The jet-former had been insistent though in asking for one though, comm'ing him twice when Rung had not responded affirmatively to his messages. But now Rung was glad to have agreed. Turbine so far had been good company and had not once mentioned anything regarding bathtubs or videos or the Lost Light Insider.

Swerve did manage to make it over quickly, who didn't seem to notice the odd fact that Rung was here with someone. Previously the mech had always shown up alone.

“A pitcher of the pink stuff, and a couple of Bronze Boilers,” Turbine requested.

Swerve cocked a brow-ridge but was off.

“So, Rung. A few drinks, and then something unusual,” Turbine told him, flipping back the sides of his helm to expose more of his face, which Rung did find quite handsome now that he could see it properly.

“Oh? Something unusual?”

“This guy I know, Firejump, has started a dance studio down on Deck L. He's got a some students and they have 'casual night' once an orn. Have you heard about it?”

Rung shook his head. “I've heard of Firejump. He's the Camien member of the Pyrobots, right?”

“He is. Doubletap takes lessons there from him and I have a standing invitation to casual night even though I'm not a student. Everyone has a few drinks, lounges around, and the students get to dance to whatever music they choose. It's sort of an informal, impromptu recital, but it's kinda like going to a Camien dance club as well.”

“It sounds interesting. Do you dance?” Rung asked.

“A little. But I'm no student of the art. I'd rather just watch.” He looked around, making a slow scan of Swerve's. “Yeah, I see about seven of Firejump's students in here. On casual night they kinda like to start out here at Swerve's, get a bit warmed up, and then head down. Oh and there's Cyclonus coming in. Looks like Mainframe's with him.”

“Mmm?” Rung prompted.

“Wait until you see them. They're both amazing on the floor.”

Rung squinted at the two, who had moved up to the bar and were placing orders. “They dance?”

“Beautifully. They both prefer this Tetrahexian solo style. I don't know what it's called, but it's really nice to watch.”

“Cyclonus is Tetrahexian,” Rung commented.

“Well I suppose that works then,” Turbine laughed lightly, and then he turned back to Rung, giving him a warm smile. “So I hope you'll enjoy watching.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” Rung responded.

“Any chance that you dance?” the blue mech asked, and Rung couldn't help but notice the hopeful lilt in his tone.

Rung shook his head. “I'm not coordinated enough.”

“I somehow doubt that. Have you ever tried?”

Again Rung shook his head. “It's not exactly what someone in my field should be doing.”

Turbine waved his hand dismissively. “I beg to differ. And I'm sure Firejump will as well. You've got a nice light frame for dancing. But even if you didn't there are forms suited for all kinds of frame types. Just wait until you see Doubletap. He does this 'Polyhexian Shifter' thing that's... well, I know tanks aren't usually considered sexy, but wait until you see him do his thing.”

The serving drone suddenly wheeled up to the table and began setting drinks upon it. “Ah! Lovely!” Turbine exclaimed. “Tell Swerve thank you.”

The serving drone beeped in acknowledgment and was about to roll away when suddenly a grappling hook attached to a long cable wrapped around it. Beeping frantically, the tiny thing was dragged back toward the bar. Rung and Turbine looked up to see Skids attached to the other end of the cable reeling it in. His other arm was wrapped around Nautica's waist. The two were leaning against the bar and laughing bemusedly.

“Wait until you see those two perform together...” said Turbine conspiratorially.

“They'll be there tonight?” Rung asked. He turned his gaze to what lay before them—a pitcher of pink engex, two empty glasses, and two cocktails that appeared to be boiling in the metal cups that they'd been served in. Admittedly he'd had something of a crush on Skids ever since the amnesiac had rescued him from the sparkeater.

“Yep. It's pretty impressive when Firejump dances with Nautica, but when she dances with Skids...” Turbine let out a determined ventilation. “Expect them to get your cooling fans running. Doubletap always jokes that they're the reason Casual Night is invitation only.”

“Oh my.” Admittedly Nautica was the main reason Rung had never acted upon his interest in the blue and red mech. The super-learner and the savant were a perfect couple, even if they refused to admit it to themselves.

“Exactly.” Turbine pushed one of the metal cups toward Rung.

As Rung took it, he found the liquid inside wasn't quite at boiling temperature but that it was still quite warm. He didn't usually enjoy much in the way of intoxicants, sticking to weak engex spritzers, but tonight wasn't a usual night.

The jet-former lifted his cup. “Here's to tonight,” he toasted, and then drank the entire contents of the cup in one go.

Rung lifted his. “To tonight,” he echoed and followed suit. The strange bubbling Bronze Boiler burned in his mouth and stomach, and a klik later he felt as if his core temperature had jumped twenty degrees and his hydraulic pressure had dropped twenty levels.

“Good, isn't it?” Turbine asked, studying Rung's face. “My squad all developed a taste for these things back during Operation: Doom Patrol.”

Rung tried to maintain some composure. This was going to be an interesting night, and perhaps an indulgence beyond a handful of energy candies was exactly what he needed. As long as Turbine didn't try to get him into a washrack.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Grimlock carried the Prionian from where they'd revived him back to the Weak Anthropic Principle. Spinister made a few more repairs to the litte blue mech there, and then insisted that he be fueled up and washed. Grimlock had somehow decided that this should be his job. He held the tiny thing's head and helped him to drink. “Me give you bath now,” he declared when the small cube had been drained, and then carried the minibot to the washrack.

The Prionian didn't resist as he was placed on a bench and showered with warm water, the Dinobot repeatedly scrubbing him with solvents and rinsing him thoroughly. After a while, Krok came close and crouched beside the bench. “What's your name?” he asked.

“Nickel,” he said in a higher-pitched voice, the first word since waking.

“Nickel of Prion?”

He nodded. “Nickel of Prion.”

“Your voice... are you a femme?”

She nodded.

“Nickel... ” Krok said softly. “We found you in the ruins, underneath a fallen building with a number of corpses.” He took her hand. “Nickel, please don't panic, but you may be the only survivor of your people. The attack by the Black Block Consortia seems to have completely devastated Prion.”

Her blank stare did not waver. “I know... I knew as I fell into stasis.” She'd been staring emptily since they'd woken her.

“Nickel, we can take you with us... drop you off at a space-hub somewhere. We are headed for Cybertron though, if you want to hang with us until then.”

“I... I don't know...” she said weakly.

“You don't have to decide now. You're welcome to share what we have and you're welcome to jump ship at any time. We will ask though that you do some work around here to cover your needs. There is a limit to our resources.”

“Of course.”

Krok patted her on the shoulder and moved off, herding the others with him. Grimlock grabbed a towel from a high shelf and began drying her frame. But no matter how many times he wiped her silver face the tears always reappeared.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 16: "Social Comforts"

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters may stop for a bit shortly as I'm still puzzling over who will be siring Megatron's next child, which will need to happen soon-ish. And no, it won't be Tailgate. If any of my readers have any suggestions or feelings one way or another, please send me an email or tell me in the comment section. There is a catch though. You have to say WHY this mech (or femme) should be the next sire. Also, the sire has to be part of the Lost Light Crew, and please don't suggest Tailgate, Whirl, Rung, Ravage, or Getaway--I have other plans for them.


	16. Social Comforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nickel's first night with the Scavengers. Megatron gives Tailgate three choices. Rung's hot date continues. There's a lot going on in this here chapter.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Krok lay Nickel upon the recharge slab... formerly Flywheels' berth. The Scavengers had all taken to sleeping together in the barracks room aboard the Weak Anthropic Principle. Ten bunks for genericons with a communal living area and washrack at the far end. He tucked a pillow beneath her head and then pulled a thermal canvas over her frame. “I'll be right next to you,” he said softly. “If there's anything you need, just wake me up, all right?”

A quiet whimper was her only response.

Krok and the others shuffled off to their berths, tucking down and falling into recharge. Krok pulled up his blanket and sighed. Fulcrum's story had been sad, but Nickel's was sadder yet. He tried to imagine what had been the most horrifying part of her ordeal—to learn of the approach of the Black Block Consortia, knowing there would be no escape for the peaceful little colony; to hear the destruction all around you, explosions and screams and falling rubble; to lie there in the aftermath listening to the cries and whimpers of dying, your spark aching because no one had come to your rescue, and that if they did arrive it was far too late; or waking in the hands of strangers, Decepticons no less, to find yourself the only survivor of the genocide.

That was when he heard the soft sobbing from the berth next to him. She was crying again.

Krok pulled the covers off of himself and left his berth. “Nickel?” he whispered in the darkened room—the only other sounds being the quiet clicks and hums of his team in peaceful slumber.

Another sob was the only response.

“Nickel... I'm here,” he whispered. His hand sought hers beneath the thermal cover. On finding it, he entwined their fingers. Fulcrum had been glad to find himself alive. She, by comparison, seemed to regret not having passed into the All-Spark along with the rest of her people. “What can I do for you?”

There was no response save for another cry she couldn't quite stifle.

“Nickel...” Krok whispered. “May I join you?”

She did not respond. Nor was there a protest as he slowly drew back her cover, climbed onto the slab beside her, pulled the blanket over the two of them, and then wrapped his arms protectively around her.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Cyclonus was in,” said Megatron when Tailgate sat bouncing Synthesis on his lap that night as the co-captain fueled. The silver mechling was giggling ecstatically.

“Oh? Did you two have a nice chat?” He leaned into Synthesis' face, speaking quietly to the child. “Did you meet my roommate? Did he give you a scary-warey look?”

“Tay!” Synthesis squawked.

“He gives everyone a scary look. But he's kinda nice too.” Tailgate gave the sparkling a kiss on one of his rapidly developing cheek-guards.

“He complained,” Megatron continued.

Tailgate tilted his helm. “Complained? About what?” He'd never known the ancient warrior to complain about anything. When offended, the tall, dignified mech usually just stood at the window brooding.

“He accused me of taking advantage of you. He tells me that you've been returning to your hab-suite exhausted after you've been here.”

Tailgate gave a little cough of embarrassment. “Well, yes, a bit. Playing with and looking after Watch and Synthesis after a long day of work is tiring, but then the donations...”

“Cyclonus worries about you,” Megatron interrupted.

“He does? Really? I didn't think he cared much about me one way or the other.”

“Well, whether he cares for you or not is besides the point. It stands that you're obviously working too hard and I did not realize it. After much consideration, I believe that you are left with the three standard choices.”

“The three standard choices?”

“Quit, continue, or change.”

“Oh... so if I quit...”

“If you quit, you stop coming here to my quarters and providing care for the sparklings and myself. You go back to your life as it had been before you'd started coming to see Synthesis and Watch.”

“And if I continue, then I just keep on doing things as I have been?”

“Exactly, which will lead to what Cyclonus is sure will lead to burn-out, given the delicate nature of your frame and spark from your bout with cybercrosis.”

Tailgate set Synthesis down and moved to the co-captain, putting his hands upon his leg. “Well then change must be the only option, because I'm not about to give up on the bitlets. They'd be broken-hearted if I did. And so would I. But if I end up dying from trying too hard to care for them, that leads us to the same place.”

Megatron shifted, setting down his now empty cube and placing his hand on Tailgate's head. “Maybe your contribution should be given only every other night. Your generosity seems to be where things began to take their toll.”

“Would you be okay with that?”

The big silver mech smirked. “Every other night is better than none at all.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rung had to be honest. He was definitely enjoying himself more than he had in a long, long time.

The studio looked as he expected—just like most every dance studio he'd visited. Mirrors. A wide open floor. Various furniture and props for some of the different dance styles all arranged neatly to the side. But overlaid upon it for 'casual night' was a different sort of atmosphere.

The lights had been dimmed and draped with patterned veils. The heavy floor mats were stacked to form low couches encompassing the chosen dance floor. Attendees draped their own blankets over them. A few flame lamps cast a flickering light about the room that added to the intimate atmosphere. The dance area was ringed with low colored lamps.

Rung sat with Turbine upon one of the stacks, a bottle of something Swerve had sold Turbine between them on a tray—not that either of them actually needed something else to drink. Rung had emptied out his on-board stash of energon treats to contribute.

Turbine had been right about Nautica. On the dance floor she was quite something. She'd actually been the first to perform for her fellow students and their guests. Firejump had led her from the couch she shared with Skids and the two had danced so elegantly together to start the evening. Then the Camien Pyrobot had danced variously with the rest of the attendees. Rung had found himself pulled out and engaged in a simple pair dance.

“You didn't warn me that I'd have to dance,” said Rung on being returned to his place. He probably would have refused were it not for the engex's overcharge breaking down his inhibitions.

Turbine laughed. “You looked great out there. I'm inclined to believe you lied about your coordination.”

“I may have exaggerated a little.” Rung picked up his glass and took the tiniest sip from it. “And you looked pretty good yourself,” he added.

“Firejump's a pretty good judge of one's abilities.” Turbine had been pulled out with Cyclonus and another jet-former to perform the Vosian favorite “The Waltz of the Stars,” always done in groups of four.

Rung popped a candy into his mouth, letting it melt slowly over his glossa as they watched Fervor perform alone now, the flamboyant yellow mech moving with such lightness and grace despite his size. Doubletap's performance followed immediately afterward. Rung had to agree with his date again—a tank could be sexy. Mainframe was next and he moved with a controlled precision in a cross-shaped pattern marked upon the floor. Then Cyclonus stepped up and added drama and smoldering passion to that precision. Later, Turbine nudged Rung as Skids and Nautica rose from their couch as the opening cords of the “Chassian Samba” began to play. Seven kliks later Rung found himself rather flustered and overheated, his cooling fans working hard. 'Suggestive' would have been a modest description of what had just happened on the floor in front of them.

Turbine leaned over again and chuckled. “Don't worry. They do that to all of us. Even the Pyrobots.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 17: "Corridors"

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those who have contributed suggestions for the sire of Megatron's next sparkling. But I've still not made a decision if any one else wishes to contribute a candidate and their reasoning.


	17. Corridors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung's date with the blue jet comes to and end, and he's unsure of how he wanted it to end. Whirl harasses Tailgate over the minibot's relationship with Megatron.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“204... 205... 206...” Rung counted off the numbers on the doors along the residential hall aloud. Beside him, Turbine half-stumbled along, having allowed the drinks to get the better of him. Admittedly he himself was not much better off. Oh, but how many crew members, drunken or sober, had he walked back to their quarters over his career as an Autobot. “207!” he announced.

Turbine looked at the number. And then at the keypad. And then at Rung. “Ah... I hope you weren't, eh, hoping I'd invite you in,” he said almost shyly.

Rung had expected it to be honest, but hadn't hoped for it.

“Doubletap's already gone to bed and he's a light sleeper, and he has an early duty shift tomorrow.” He looked back at the door. And then back at Rung. “I had a wonderful time getting to know you better, and having some fun together tonight. I really hope we can do it again, if you're up for it. Would you be interested in casual night again? Or something else?”

“I would be game for either, Turbine. I enjoyed myself immensely tonight,” Rung answered, wondering if the heat in his tanks was the result of too much engex, or of the blue jet's attentions, or of the fact they'd just shared an elevator with Nautica and Skids, who'd seemed oblivious to the fact they were sharing an elevator with two other mechs and seemed to be carrying on from where the Chassian Samba had left off. Honestly, it wasn't that much further to either of their residences, was it?

“I'll ask you out again some time,” Turbine said with a lilt of excitement in his voice. He quickly reached up and keyed open the habsuite, the door swishing open quietly. He turned back to his date one last time. “Thank you, Rung, for accepting.” To Rung's surprise, the blue mech suddenly leaned forward, cupped Rung's chin in one hand, and placed a quick kiss on his lips. “Goodnight, doctor,” he whispered and ducked into the shadows beyond the door, which closed with an unexpected swiftness.

For a moment Rung just stood there, staring again at the number painted upon the panel. Turbine's attentions and genteel care had really been nice. Maybe he had been hoping to be asked in, and maybe hoping for where that might lead.

Or maybe that was just the engex working on him. 

Or Skids and Nautica.

A stanza of laughter floated up the corridor, breaking Rung from his thoughts. He quickly turned and marched back toward the elevators, feeling so warm and wanted for the first time in ages.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate squawked as something clasped him around the waist and pulled him up out of the knee-deep sludge of the septic system. He'd been working all morning at clearing a blockage along one of the main pipes that led to the water-recycling plant aboard the Lost Light. Apparently someone had been processing ore in one of the work-rooms and was just dumping the sediment into their sink. He looked over his shoulder to see Whirl standing there, who dropped him unceremoniously on the deckplates of the corridor.

“Look at you, scrabbling around in the sewers. Seems appropriate of late, doesn't it?”

Tailgate got to his feet. “I'm working, Whirl. What's this about?” Tailgate huffed. Suddenly he let out a wail. “My pipe-brush! You made me drop my pipe-brush!” He got down on all fours beside the open pit into the sewer main and looked inside, hoping to spot it before sediment covered it up or it drifted away.

Whirl put his foot on Tailgate's aft. “Yeah, there you go again, looking through the filth. You'll find plenty of it back at Megatron's quarters now, won't you?”

Tailgate's head whipped around to glare up at the rotary.

“There are rumors going around about the nature of your relationship with Megatron,” Whirl said bitterly. “Someone at Swerve's was saying you've been defiling yourself with that Decepticon scum. But at least we know know that there's not some inter-dimensional wormhole hiding in his greasy valve just waiting to devour a spike.”

“Megatron's an Autobot now. Not a Decepticon. And like you have anything to talk about!” the minibot snapped back. “You even spark-merged with him.”

“I was just swallowing my pride and doing my duty for the Autobot cause. You're just looking for a free frag, sticking your sad little spike in whatever dirty hole was available.”

Tailgate felt his transfluid pulse faster through his lines. As he stood back up his hands clenched into fists. If Whirl insulted him or Megatron one more time he would punch him. He was doing this for the Autobot cause as well. How could the rotary not see the hypocrisy in this accusation?

Whirl crouched, staring Tailgate in the optics. “You know, if you just want a frag, why don't you come over to my habsuite?” His voice was low and suggestive. “I'll let you do whatever you want with my frame. No danger of me contaminating or corrupting you.” When Tailgate did not respond he straightened back up. “You know where to find me. Oh, but clean yourself up first. You're a mess.”

“I hate you!” Tailgate snarled. And he flinched as soon as the words had left his vocalizer. He'd never hated anyone before.

Whirl cocked his head and gave a little cackle. “Good. Hate-sex is the best. Ask Megatron about that—Watch was conceived and nourished by hate-sex you know. Oh, and bring her along too. I miss my daughter.” Another cackle and he strode off down the hall.

Tailgate jumped back down into the drainage pipe and fumbled through the water looking for his pipe-brush to distract himself and hoping no one would see his tears. As he found the missing tool, he opened up the Lost Light's intranet and went quickly to Rung's page, quickly grabbing the two-cycle block at the end of the day that amazingly no one had claimed.

A message soon came back from Rung. “Tailgate? Will you be all right until then?” the psychiatrist asked. He'd obviously read the bit on the form where it asked 'reason for visit'.

“I think so. And have to finish my job here.”

“All right. I'll see you later then. Just keep yourself calm until then, and don't talk to him if he comes back.” Rung advised.

“I will. And Rung? Could we meet in the washracks? Some private ones this time? I really need a good cleaning.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Strange Constellations" continues in Chapter 18: "The Clock Strikes"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	18. The Clock Strikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Here, Ten, hold my babies while I kick Whirl's aft.”  
> “Ten!”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Deathsaurus tried to keep his face expressionless as the image of Tarn solidified on the screen in front of him. A call from this most fanatical of Decepticons was never a good thing—even more so when most of one's crew was on The List—infinitely more so when one's own name featured on The List.

“Deathsaurus. Thank you for taking my call,” said Tarn in the calmest, most even-tempered voice imaginable.

“Did I have a choice?” Deathsaurus hoped he didn't sound too cynical or snarky. The D.J.D. only called to announce they were at your door. At least he might be able to learn who in particular they were after and get them away from the rest of his followers, most likely losing the target but avoiding the inevitable collateral damage.

The dark-hued mech chuckled, and of course it sounded sinister. “You always have a choice, but I'll cut to the chase, Deathsaurus. I'm requesting a personal meeting with you, a rendezvous if you will.”

“To what ends? Which of my mechs are you wanting to slaughter next? The war's over, Tarn.”

Tarn shook his head. “Deathsaurus, I understand your distrust, but the war is not over. This meeting is for business. Decepticon business. I was hoping to meet with you for a quiet word.”

Deathsaurus gave a soft cough. “A quiet word. Of course.”

“Is that your acceptance?” Tarn asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

“So then Springer's like 'well just shoot him again' so of course I did, but the thing kept twitching,” Whirl laughed, recounting a story from his time in the Wreckers to an unusually enraptured audience at Swerve's. “And Rack-n'-Ruin's all 'well he's down and not looking too hot, so it's not exactly like he's going to be bothering you any more'. But I was like 'does it matter?' because I did not want those pseudopods on me again. So I shot him a third time.”

Whirl was so engrossed in his story that he failed to notice the sudden hush falling over the room and the change of expression on the faces of his listeners, or even the heavy footsteps behind him that accompanied the change. A big black hand suddenly closed around his neck, and Whirl was whipped around to stare into the face of the Lost Light's co-captain. “Well a good evening to you too, Megsy,” Whirl cackled, unphased.

With a scowl, Megatron slammed Whirl's head down onto the bar, causing the barware Swerve had been working with to jump. Everyone nearby twitched and began to pull away from what was surely about to become the center of a nasty storm.

“Something I can do for you, Captain?” Whirl asked weakly. That had hurt.

“If you ever, ever hassle Tailgate again, this sad little nightmare of your life will seem like a pleasant dream compared to what I will make it,” Megatron growled slowly.

“Got it...” The room was spinning and didn't seem like it would be slowing anytime soon. Somehow Megatron had destabilized his gyros.

“Good.” Megatron released him and strode back out of the bar, pausing briefly at the door to take Synthesis and Watch back from where he'd placed them in Ten's hands.

Swerve's suddenly burst back into chattering, an anxious curiosity to it now. “What did you do to Tailgate?” Swerve demanded of Whirl, who was still slumped onto the counter.

“Oh... might have made a few comments to him about his social situation... something about his sex life.”

“Whirl!” Trailcutter complained. “You shouldn't harass Tailgate because one, he's a nice guy. And two, he's Megatron's nice guy.” The others around him all agreed. “You're just asking for trouble if you mess with him.”

“So it seems.” Whirl shakily picked himself up off of the bar and sighed when he found his drink had been spilled in the confrontation. He righted the glass and pushed it toward Swerve. “I need another.”

Shaking his head, Swerve took the glass and moved it over to the engex tanks' spigots.

“So what movies are we watching tonight?” Whirl asked feebly. “I think I'm ready for a nice quiet evening.” And then his legs wobbled and he toppled back onto the bar.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	19. Uncertain Futures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron contemplates what must come to pass; it won't be long before he'll be pressured to conceive again. And Deathsaurus must deal with the fact that his worst enemy has decided to pay a little visit for a 'quiet word.'

-o-o-o-o-o-

Arriving back at his quarters, Megatron sat down heavily in his chair and opened his chest, and both sparklings immediately launched themselves toward the nozzles. As they began to suckle, he wondered how seekers managed to deal with the trines they frequently birthed. Oh if only someone would knock up Starscream. That would be justice served. And then there were some frame-types such as tractors and brushers that were known for popping out litters of five or more. How could the carrier even deal with that many hungry mouths?

“Ow! Easy there!” Megatron suddenly spat at his son, who had taken one of the pouch's connection struts in a pinching grip. “The war's over. You don't have to attack me for the sake of your sire.” He reached down and pried away the sparkling's hand, which then latched onto one of his fingers. Thankfully the silver mini-monster should be taking interest in standard energon soon, and that would mean he could be weaned, and that would bring Megatron closer to maintaining normal energy levels. But of course once Synthesis was weaned, Prowl would be demanding that he conceive the next sparkling in order to keep him a prisoner. The vicious cycle would begin again.

Finding the next sire—the thought of it made him shudder.

Optimus had been easy; the Prime had felt it politically and psychologically important to both factions. Whirl had been... some unholy intersection of chance and desperation and anger. Perhaps Ratchet would give in and begrudgingly do the deed, possibly at Optimus' urging. Likewise with Ultra Magnus. Another possibility was that he might be able to guilt Drift into sparking him, insisting that the former Decepticon shoulder some of the burden. Not that Rodimus would agree. No, of course Rodimus wouldn't agree, not with the looks the captain was always throwing Drift at staff meetings or the way he'd pat Drift's aft when he thought no one was looking.

He could not hold back a hiccup of amusement as the thoughts regarding his options rolled around to Tailgate. Tailgate would spark him in an instant if given the option. Not that he could... not with his little minibot's spark. Yes, it did happen on rare occasions that a small mech was able to ignite new life in a much larger partner, but that was definitely a rare occasion, and most cases involved either external help or extenuating circumstances.

Synthesis finished feeding first, and as Megatron had given Tailgate the night off, he placed the mechling onto the floor beside the chair. “Your turn, Ravage,” he said.

With a sigh Ravage rose from his spot and padded over on silent feet. He'd quickly come to understand the value of Megatron's little Autobot pet. “Kitty!” squeaked Synthesis happily as he batted at the cat-former's ears. With another sigh, Ravage carefully licked the mechling clean, and then closed his mouth around the little convoy and carried him to the cage-like crib at the other side of the room. With a third sigh he tucked him in for the night. Did being Megatron's ally really have to include playing nursemaid?

o-o-o-o-o-

Deathsaurus called regular staff meetings. Most were broadcast live to the fleet. A few, such as this one, were kept behind closed doors. Eventually everyone would know what was up, but for now, there was no point in worrying his people.

“Killing is the only thing he wants. We're all on his list, you know,” Blue Bacchus said bitterly.

“It's not a social call, Deathsaurus,” Solon continued. “He's coming to take you down. Once you're gone, the rest of us will be easier pickings.”

“I know. I know.” Deathsaurus tried to calm them. He also tried not to look at Esmeral, who was sitting beside him, trembling with worry. “Tarn insists that he's not coming here on DJD business, but Decepticon business.”

“You are being deceived,” Leozack rumbled quietly, as if Deathsaurus wouldn't hear him though clearly he would.

“Please, give me some credit here, Leozack. All of you.” Deathsaurus vented deeply, his plating puffing and then settling again, but it was mostly for effect. “You assume I'm being deceived. Tarn thinks I am being deceived,” he stated, hands on the conference table. “But I assure you that I'm not just going to open the door and invite him and his team of psychopaths in to slaughter us.”

“And they will too. They reported that everyone aboard the Lost Light was killed. Overlord with them,” Blue Bacchus interjected.

“Lies. To boost their own egos. The Lost Light is still out there. It landed on Cybertron and took Megatron with them when they left again,” Sixshot countered. “The report of the massacre came in well before they returned to Cybertron.

Deathsaurus slapped the table to get everyone's attention again. “Look. The point is that yes, Tarn is coming here. And perhaps he is good to his word and that this is more than a ruse.”

“Deceived...” Leozack muttered.

Deathsaurus glared at him but continued. “But whatever his 'Decepticon business' is, of course it's going to be 'DJD business'. He looked around the table at his lieutenants, this time speaking lowly, sympathetically. “None of us here support the mission of the DJD. None of us have any love for the DJD. We've all lost friends to their 'cleansing' as they call it. I've lost a lot of good mechs. I've lost a lot of good allies.” And then his wings flared slightly as the commander straightened and took on a regal stance, one he saved for important proclamations. “So, Decepticon business or not, we are making it personal. Whatever his motives in coming here may be, our reaction will be the same. Tarn will not leave here alive. We shall strike first and revenge the fallen. I myself will gladly deliver that first blow.”

Around him his men rose and cheered raucously, pleased with their commander's decision.

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last call for anyone wishing to contribute a potential sire for Megatron's third bitlet. Please leave a comment or send me an email containing a name and the reasoning behind it.
> 
> Example: "You should have Ten sire, because he's a real sweetheart and secretly wants to be a father, even though no one really understands him. He's wanted to become a father ever since the last chapter when Megatron gave him Watch and Synthesis to hold while he was kicking Whirl's aft."


	20. Getting Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krok makes a decision to leave Prion. Esmeral tries to accept her conjunx's busy schedule... and social life.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Grimlock picked Nickel up and was about to carry her out along with the rest of the scavenging party when Krok stopped him. “Whoa... hold up there Grimmy. Put her back down.”

“But time for go to work now...” the Dinobot said.

“Yeah. But she doesn't have to work today.” Not that she'd worked a day yet. “In fact, you don't have to work today. Why don't you take it easy today as well and just keep an optic on her, all right. Make sure she has some energon.”

Grimlock nodded and then carefully put her back down on the berth from whence he'd plucked her.

Krok moved over to the sullen minibot. “If you need anything, just comm' me all right.”

“Sure,” she said flatly.

Krok sighed and headed for the ramp. Since they'd brought her aboard she'd done nothing but sit and stare at the walls of the ship, her optics usually damp with the tears of deep sorrow. And each day he'd sent one of the crew back to the ship after a cycle or two, not so much as to guard her, but to be there if she needed something. Or if she suddenly freaked out or tried to take her own life. She hadn't, but there was always that worry. At night he'd keep her against his chest, her tiny frame sometimes shuddering with silent tears. 

Krok comm'ed the others as they transformed and headed out. ::Make it count, boys. I've decided we're leaving Prion tonight.::

::Tonight? Already?:: Misfire asked. ::We're still finding some good stuff out here.::

::Yeah. I know, but this planet's getting me down. And it can't be doing Nickel any good to stay here either.::

-o-o-o-o-o-

Esmeral collapsed onto the berth and tucked into her conjunx, humming and stroking him contentedly.

“Feeling better?” Deathsaurus asked, still in his alt-mode but lying on his side. His long reptilian glossa slipped from his mouth and tickled at her sensor horns.

“Much better, my love.”

“Good. You were certainly looking worried there.” He closed up his array, Esmeral's needs sated. While she didn't have even close to the libido he did, he knew not to leave her wanting.

“With good reason.”

He agreed with a sigh. “Yes, of course with good reason. Thankfully I found a way to take your mind off of things for a while,” he teased. Time alone with her seemed to be a luxury any more. There was always so much to do... so much that needed taking care of. Since the fall of the empire, a small but steady stream of dissatisfied and disenchanted Decepticons had trickled into his ranks.

“For a while.”

He sighed again, and then leaned down, his toothy beak of a mouth nipping at a flare and his tongue whipping out to lick over her lips.

“If you're going to kiss me, kiss me properly,” she said with a firm tone.

“So demanding...” Deathsaurus complained with a smile, and then obliged her by transforming and pressing his mouth to hers.

She kissed back eagerly, passionately, reaching up to hold her conjunx tightly. “Stay tonight? It's been a long time since you've shared my berth for recharge.”

The dragon-former gave a cough. She was correct. It had been a long time since he'd slept beside her, enough that he'd considered sharing quarters with her again. “I'm sorry, my love, but I have other engagements for tonight,” he explained.

“Oh...”

Normally she tried to swallow her disappointment and encourage her husband in everything. Including when he had 'other engagements'. 'Engagements' though never applied to work or business, but to bonding with his growing force. Sometimes it was a drink with the crew down in the bar Chemmix was running in an otherwise empty weapons bay. Sometimes it was time spent socially with one of the sub-captains and their crew. Sometimes it involved a berth that was neither his nor hers.

“Not even tonight? You know I'm worried about you. If things go badly with Tarn...”

He leaned forward, all four optics shuttering and kissing her sweetly. “We'll be fine. I promise you.”

“It's a trap.”

“I know it's probably a trap. But we'll be ready for him.”

“Tarn's no idiot.”

“Nor am I.” Deathsaurus rose, went to her washrack to wipe himself off and check his appearance, and then returned to give her a final kiss before departing.

“Please stay?” She cupped his head in her lithe hands, her crimson optics pleading.

He gave a dismissive sigh and left.

As the door to her berthroom slid shut, Esmeral shoved her face into the pillow and wept. And she wanted to say it was for her conjunx and his crew, but somehow she knew that it was selfishly for her own sake.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	21. Dating a Tank-former

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung goes on a date with Doubletap, Turbine's best friend and roommate. Why do tank-formers always think a firing range is romantic?

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rung leveled his pistol at the target and squeezed off five shots.

“Nice!” exclaimed Doubletap as the overhead monitor displayed the psychiatrist's score along with a graphic of the target and where those shots had landed. “And here I thought you wouldn't be much with a weapon.” He clapped the slender mech on the shoulder. “I'm proven wrong.”

“And yet you brought me here anyway? Expecting I'd do poorly?”

The warrior laughed awkwardly. “Um... uh... yeah... well I thought...”

Rung gave Doubletap a smile. “I'm glad you asked me. Even though the war is over I really should be keeping in practice,” he said, reloading his pistol with a fresh battery.

Doubletap felt much relieved. Maybe he really should have thought about his choice of venues better. He'd only ever dated his own kind before, and the firing range was the staple venue for tank-formers on a date. Some indoor urban ranges even had 'range suites' that could be hired out for more private 'shooting practice'. Take that how you wanted.

But really, what would the gentle orange mech get out of a firing range? Though Rung had said yes to the offer at the beginning of their date. Of course he would have loved to take Rung to Casual Night at Firejump's studio again, but that wasn't for a few more days, and Turbine had beaten him to it as a date thing. His best friend and roommate had been kind enough to let him ask the psychiatrist out, but he wasn't going to steal his ideas, especially as it hadn't even been an orn since Turbine had brought Rung to Casual Night.

“They sent me in for weapons training when I became an Autobot. Even though I wouldn't be sent into battle, I still needed to know how to defend myself,” Rung continued.

“Of course. Did that training ever pay off?”

Rung aimed again. “Unfortunately yes.” He fired, all five shots hitting the target in an even tighter grouping than before.

“How about after this we head over to the lecture hall? It's movie night there.” Perhaps things could be salvaged completely.

“That would be fine. Do you know what's showing?”

“I'll look.” Doubletap quickly pulled out a datapad and ran through some information. “Ah... a Lithonian film entitled 'Smoke on the Wind' and then its sequel 'Smoke on the Water'. I've seen both. Good movies... if you like Lithonian romances.”

“I've seen them too, but it's been a while. I wouldn't mind seeing them again.” The target reset and Rung threw out his last five shots, four hitting the bullseye and one straying to the second ring. He smiled over his final score. “Not bad for a mech who spends way too much time in his office.”

“Not bad at all. Not Bluestreak or Perceptor, but enough to get you into sniper school I think.”

Rung laughed. It was flattery, but given in the nicest way. “Your turn.”

“Mind if I do this in alt-mode?”

“Not at all.”

Doubletap transformed, dropping down into his tank-mode, and wheeled up to the shootist's mark on the floor. “Watch this.” His right barrel twitched, obviously aiming, and a second later it threw out five shots in quick succession.”

The report came back, awarding a high score for aim and an honorable mention for timing.

“And your left barrel now?”

“Left barrel?” Doubletap gave an awkward laugh. “Well, if you insist.” The tank-former's left barrel aimed and emitted one bright flash of light.

Doubletap transformed as the report came in. “Target obliterated,” the system announced.

-o-o-o-o-o-

In most Lithonian films, the scenery and the setting seemed almost an afterthought. Instead, a deeply emotional plot and first-rate acting were at the forefront, and the pair of romances showing tonight were no exception. Rung and Doubletap sat in the third row of the lecture hall, staring up at the screen as “Smoke on the Water” played before them.

When the protagonist was sent off to war, the tank-former slipped his hand into Rung's for comfort.

When the lady he left behind lost the child she was carrying, Rung just gave up and took off his goggles so he could properly wipe the tears from his faceplate.

When the protagonist held his brother as the mech lay dying on the battlefield, Rung and Doubletap found themselves holding each other.

When the lady found her conjunx and rescued him as he himself lay dying, the pair found themselves sharing the tank-former's towel to soak up the tears of joy.

But they weren't the only ones. They could hear weeping from all around the room. Someone near the back of the hall had been sobbing loudly until apparently someone else came over to help him through his grief. And that had just been at an early scene in which the lady's mother had been captured by the enemy and torn from her own conjunx.

“I forgot how dramatic this movie got,” Rung said as the credits rolled and he tried to pull himself back together.

“I'm sorry for not being more supportive.” Doubletap apologized. “I might be front-line artillery and all, but I'm such a softy inside when it comes to this sort of thing. Facing a squad of Decepticon front-liners was nothing. A lost pet makes me feel sick for days.” He sighed unhappily. “I suppose you know the truth about me now.” He suddenly grabbed for the towel he'd just tucked away to soak up a fresh volley of tears.

It was enough to stir more tears out of Rung that ran across a sympathetic smile.

Around them the other attendees were doing the same, trying to recover themselves out of their deeply emotional state.

“Hey, if anyone wants,” Chromedome called from the back of the lecture hall, “Rewind and I are going back to our habsuite to watch 'Pleasures of Iacon' to get over this, and anyone's welcome to join us.”

Rung felt a sudden surge of warmth through his tanks. 'Pleasures of Iacon' was a good follow-up to the Lithonian films—sweet and fluffy with pretty mechs and light humor. It was also soft-core pornography. “I've not seen that one in ages either,” he told his date, giving neither a positive or negative reaction. Though it was definitely a movie he'd enjoyed watching. Somewhere he had a copy stashed away on an entertainment pad.

“Habsuite 306!” Rewind called. “Bring your own engex and your own blanket!”

“Would you like to go?” Rung asked Doubletap as the tank-former had not responded. He tried to put a subtle positive lilt into his question. They'd been holding each other through the second half of 'Smoke on the Water', but it had been entirely platonic. 'Pleasures of Iacon' would probably lead to a bit of massaging and groping in the dark of the room—it was expected of anyone there with a lover or on a date. Even without having had any drinks tonight, Rung realized he'd like that. Ever since he'd begun to receive some attention for that silly bathtub video, he'd noticed long-dormant desires beginning to awaken somewhere deep in his psyche.

Even with the mask he wore covering his face, Doubletap looked a bit embarrassed. “I'd like to... w-with y-you,” he stammered. “B-but I have an e-early shift tomorrow.” The hand linked with Rung's was shaking slightly.

“Should we just go watch the first half?” It was a pretty long movie if Rung remembered right. At least more than three cycles.

Doubletap laughed awkwardly. “I... I might get a bit too excited. And if w-we left before the movie was over...”

“It is something of an 'exciting' movie, isn't it. Maybe we should just go have a drink at Swerve's. He's probably still open.”

Doubletap tried to compose himself. “Rung, thank you for saying yes to tonight. I had a good time with you.”

“Saying goodnight now?”

“Um... yeah.” He looked about the lecture hall. Almost everyone had departed, either headed for bed or Swerve's or habsuite 306.

Rung did his best to swallow his disappointment. But the tank-former was probably right.

“Um... Turbine said that he kissed you.” He looked hopefully at the orange mech. “Could I kiss you goodnight too?” he asked nervously.

“Sure,” Rung answered, probably all too quickly.

The mask shot aside to reveal a pair of beautifully-shaped lips. The upper lip was painted blue while the bottom one was the same color as the rest of his faceplate, the pattern marking him as being from Fornax. Doubletap hurriedly grabbed Rung by the shoulder and flung a kiss at him. But in his nervous haste he missed and hit Rung on the cheekguards. Trying again, he found his target. But the moment Rung began to kiss back, the mech inhaled nervously and pulled away. “Goodnight,” he squeaked anxiously and then ran up the stairs and out of the lecture hall.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	22. Fur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drifting alien ship hails the Lost Light for help. Synthesis becomes Swerve's youngest customer.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Ultra Magnus placed his hand on Megatron's shoulder, something he'd learned would wake the big mech gently. The co-captain had fallen asleep yet again while feeding Synthesis.

“Captain? There's another ship hailing us. They were sending out a distress ping on Galactic Council frequencies.”

“Hmm? What's the ship's registry? Do we have that yet?”

“It's a Torjalian freighter, registered to Torjalia, a minor planet in the Lesathian system.”

Coming to full awareness and noting the weight in his arms, Megtron looked down to see Synthesis asleep in the clutch of his right arm, his mouth still clenched to the tip of the feeding pouch. In his left arm... Tailgate lay asleep, cradled against the co-captain's chest as well. Just behind the nanny's head, curled into his cowl, was Watch. Her three-fingered hands curled around Tailgate's helm.

His family...

“I've never heard of Torjalia. What do they want? Any idea yet?” Megatron asked.

“They've broken down. They're asking for either a mechanic, or a tow into the closest station.”

Megatron looked at the forward monitor to see the alien ship adrift in space. And then he looked to Magnus. “Arms out,” he commanded.

As Magnus obeyed, Megatron deposited Tailgate and Watch into the second-in-command's arms, who remained asleep. Then he pried Synthesis off of his breast and placed him beside his sister and caretaker. Closing up his chest, he strode forward and called to Siren. “Siren, open the comm' to the Torjalian ship.”

The view of the the alien ship dissolved into static which then cleared to reveal what seemed a rather small bridge where several greyish-white balls of long fur floated about. “This is Megatron, Co-Captain of the Lost Light. Could you please state the nature of your trouble in more detail?”

The balls of fur all suddenly extended two pairs of whip-like tentacles, which lashed onto the many railings along the walls. Large, soulful brown eyes opened upon each alien as they drew in toward the camera. “I am Captain Fuzifoo of the Torjalian freighter Toolor'raloo,” spoke the one at the front from a mouth opening beneath the eyes.

“I'm Soosor!” squeaked another one from the fluffy captain's side.

Megatron ignored the snickers from the bridge staff.

“Our engine just stopped working. It was fine, and then just quit. No warnings. No indications. If you could please either send over a mechanic—our engineer is at a loss as to what's wrong—or if you could give us a tow into the nearest friendly port, we would be most grateful.”

“I'm Foofin!” chirped another of the Torjalians, maneuvering himself in front of the captain, who was then pulled back by a pair of tentacles.

There were more barely suppressed giggles from around the bridge.

“I shall send over a service team to evaluate your ship's engines. Is there anything else you require?”

“I believe that apart from our engines all is well here. Thank you, Co-Captain Megatron.”

“Be prepared to receive our team. They'll hail you. And go ahead and switch off your distress beacon. I think we've got this.”

The fuzzy aliens all squeaked and jostled against each other happily. “Thank you again, Co-Captain Megatron.”

Megatron gave a wave to Siren, who cut the comm' link. The bridge erupted into laughter.

“Oh dear Primus. They were so cute,” grinned Hound.

“I don't think I could ever take them seriously,” barked Siren. “All that floating fur!”

Megatron tried to suppress a smile, breaking it down to just a smirk, as he turned back to Ultra Magnus.

The big mech sat at his station now, still holding the three small bodies. The smirk broke free into a smile. “You look good like that,” Megatron rumbled, reaching out to take Synthesis, who was now awake. “Ever think about parenting?”

Ultra Magnus gave a slight scowl but said nothing.

He lifted his son from Magnus' grasp and held him at arms' length. “You look more like your sire every day. And once you're weaned and taking in solid supplements, you're going to turn into him, aren't you?”

He set Synthesis down, who immediately wobbled over to Ultra Magnus and reached for Tailgate. “Taygay! Taygate down!”

“He's asleep,” said Ultra Magnus firmly, looking down at the young convoy.

Synthesis looked disappointed and plopped down onto the floor.

Megatron turned back at the bridge crew. “Hound? Call down to engineering and have them assemble a team to look at the Torjalian ship. And authorize a shuttle to ferry them over.”

“On it, Sir,” responded Hound, turning back to his console.

-o-o-o-o-o-

A day later the announcement went out that the Lost Light would be detouring to take the crippled Torjalian ship in to Sugoi Station for repairs. Apparently they'd tried to repair it, but parts that could not be machined aboard the Lost Light were needed.

“Sugoi Station? What's that?” Tailgate asked. He'd taken Synthesis down to Swerve's while watching the toddler. Hopefully seeing other mechs drinking would encourage the silver convoy to try it as well. Swerve had even mixed up a dilute cocktail of sweet-tasting minerals and low-grade for the little one, putting it into a sealed cube but poking a curly straw through the seal. Tailgate had sat Synthesis on the counter and had placed the cube in his little hands. Chromedome was there as well, sans Rewind, having a drink with Brainstorm on Tailgate's opposite side. In fact he'd decided to take the seat next to Tailgate on seeing Synthesis there with his nanny.

“Sugoi's a nice place,” said Velocity. She and Nautica were having a drink beside Tailgate. “We stopped there in the Vis Vitalis. Great place for shopping for cloth goods.”

“Cloth goods? Like blankets and towels?”

“Blankets and towels and pillows and clothing and curtains and stuff like that,” the medic said cheerfully. “The planet below is something of a mecca for weavers.”

“I'm glad we're going” said Nautica. “I could really use a thicker berth pad these days as... well... it would be nice.”

Velocity gave her a nudge in the side, at which the two Camiens giggled. “How about a dress for dancing... or something pretty to wear for Skids?” Velocity suggested, at which they giggled again. And then she addressed Chromedome. “How about you? Buy something pretty for Rewind?”

“Nice lacy dress maybe? Or something soft and fuzzy like those aliens we're hauling,” Nautica continued. She'd heard all about the Torjalians from the team that had been sent over.

“I don't think Rewind's into clothing...” Chromedome said, knowing full well that he wasn't. The only time he'd ever seen Rewind in clothing was during a stint on some ice-world when all of them had worn oversuits to protect against the dreadful environment outside of the base. A few Autobots had even worn a light layer of cloth or plastic while indoors to keep up their inner temperatures.

Tailgate began to puzzle as to why any of their kind would buy clothing, and why they were giggling about it, when suddenly Synthesis began to take interest in the cube with the straw that had been placed repeatedly into his hands. “Oh!” Tailgate gasped. “Maybe he's trying it!”

The group around the mechling went silent, tensing in anticipation.

“Like this,” Tailgate said, sliding back his mask and grasping the end of the straw in his lips.

Synthesis imitated, and the specially-prepared drink was soon disappearing into the little mech's mouth.

And then he opened his mouth and the pale pink liquid dribbled out.

As the others laughed Tailgate quickly went for a towel to clean up the mess.

But then Synthesis drank again, this time swallowing. And then he drank even more.

Around them everyone was cooing happily and taking video captures of the mechling enjoying his first drink. Chromedome seemed especially entranced. Tailgate regretted not having asked Megatron down to Swerve's for the attempt. But there would be other firsts. And Watch still had plenty of firsts to take pride in. And hopefully Megatron would be interested in seeing them. And there would be other sparklings to follow with all their firsts... dozens more... perhaps hundreds of children over the eons.

And Tailgate knew he wanted to be there for every single one of them.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	23. Disappointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Sugoi Station is a pretty cool place, so Rodimus decides to leave his co-captain in charge of the Lost Light for the entirety of their scheduled stop. Tailgate's kinda pissed about it because he was really hoping for some family time spent shopping and exploring with Megatron and the bitlets.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rodimus smirked. “Oh look, someone's gotten himself onto the first page of the Lost Light Insider,” he said smugly. “Just look at this darling picture.” He waved a datapad at Megatron, who had just shown up for his shift.

Megatron stared at the image gracing the screen. It had obviously been taken a few days ago when Tailgate had come to the bridge but fallen asleep, along with himself and the sparklings. The four of them sat there in the captain's chair, all deep in recharge. Tailgate's frame was so comparatively small he could have passed for another of Megatron's offspring. “A nice picture. A bit intimate for public posting, but your crew seems to have no moral quandaries regarding one's private life.”

“They're your crew too, Co-Captain Megatron.”

“Of course they are.”

Rodimus strutted up to the front window and looked out. “We should be arriving at Sugoi Station around the end of your shift. I've not alerted the fluffballs though. We have already secured docking permission and boarding clearance for the crew.”

“They're all right with us being Cybertronian?”

“Sugoi's neutral and welcoming toward mechanoid races at present—provided they come with lots of spending cash for goods and entertainment. And we've been guaranteed a fair exchange rate for shanix to yon-imperiale conversion. I wouldn't have expected that out here at the edge of both Galactic Council and Black Block space.”

“You've been busy,” Megatron complimented.

Rodimus smirked again. “There's a catch though.”

“Oh?”

“Drift and Ratchet and I are going on shore leave. You get to cover our shifts. And Magnus' shift too. He's got something or other to attend to.”

“Four straight shifts?”

“Maybe more. But you can handle it, Megsy. You're the mighty Megatron, remember? And as co-captain, it's your job to take over when the captain is indisposed.” He leaned onto the console next to the command chair. “The guidebook says there's this nightclub specifically catering to mechanicals that has an amazing floorshow and one heck of a drinks menu. So I'm planning on becoming quite indisposed. We've got a hotel booked nearby as well. Our suite includes a butler and a masseuse. Drift's idea of course.”

The silver mech glared. He'd actually been hoping for a bit of time away from the Lost Light. And Tailgate had been asking to go out with him and the bitlets for a bit of shopping and exploration. Apparently Sugoi was unusually child-friendly as well as mechanical-friendly.

“Just take a few naps in the big chair like you always do while the parasites chew on your tits, and have someone bring you some energon.” Rodimus laughed dismissively and sauntered toward the exit. “I'm going to go rest up. And you can tell the fuzzies we're dropping their ship at the dockyards.”

Megatron grimaced, and with a sigh of resignation he sat heavily in the command chair.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate was angry and disappointed. Megatron had been all but chained to the Lost Light's bridge while they would be docked at Sugoi Station. When Megatron had explained, Tailgate had tried to contact Rodimus, but the captain had not responded. When he tried to contact Ultra Magnus, the lawman just answered “It was Rodimus' decision.”

Megatron had been kind though. “I've enlisted Cyclonus to take you and the bitlets around Sugoi. He'll be there in the event of anything happening and will see to any purchases you wish to make.”

“It's not the same, but I suppose it's that or nothing,” Tailgate pouted. He really had been hoping for that family time; it might help Megtron bond a bit more to his children.

“I know you were looking forward to some family time, but I can't join you. But you can have fun without me. And perhaps a new thermal blanket might be in order.”

“What color?” Tailgate asked deflatedly.

Megatron thought for a moment. “Any color. Just something tasteful. And get one for yourself as well while you're at it. Maybe a rug for Synthesis to play on as well. I've noticed he's been rubbing the color off of his corners a lot lately as he's become more mobile.”

Tailgate perked up. “Should I get a rug for Watch as well?”

“If you see one that would suit her.”

Tailgate smiled beneath his mask. As unhappy as he was at not being able to go out with Megatron, the prospect of a bit of shopping for the family was exciting. “How much should I spend?” he asked. “I don't have much to be honest.”

The silver mech smiled. “Cyclonus will take care of it, so buy whatever you'd like.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	24. Sugoi Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first contingent of Lost Lighters disembark on shore-leave with many destinations and activities planned, Tailgate and the sparklings among them. Rung and Nautica discover a common goal. Nightbeat discovers Rung's alt-mode. Tailgate and Cyclonus visit a good number of shops. Rung meets up with another crew-member for a date.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sugoi Station had a long but unexciting history. That history had begun when a large monolithic asteroid had been selected for excavation by a mining company from Maul. They'd had the massive thing towed out of its orbit, moving it slowly toward their homeworld, eventually parking it in a new orbit at the edge of their solar system. After it had been mined out and abandoned, it had been re-purposed as a military base during a conflict but had not seen any action. After the war it had been purchased by a commercial interest and the old tunnels and military installations had been turned into a modern way-station that promised a business-friendly environment, a family-friendly atmosphere, and low taxes. A Mauler sub-world had a thriving textile industry for which Sugoi became the primary retail outlet to passing aliens.

The Lost Light made a stop at Sugoi's dockyards where they dropped off the Torjalian ship, the strange creatures thanking them profusely and promising to return the favor if ever needed. And then the Lost Light took its assigned berth on one of the station's three massive docking arms. A very excited Tailgate and a much less excited Cyclonus were some of the first to disembark.

Tailgate had Watch on his back in a baby carrier, just as he'd been carried by Swerve that time they were in their holomatter avatars on Hedonia. He held Synthesis' hand, the toddler on his feet beside him. A tether connected them further, running from Tailgate's waist to Synthesis' back, should there be some distraction and should the silver convoy slip away. Along with weaning came a sudden interest in mobility as the coding for the child's alt-mode began to activate. Once nursing ceased altogether, the child's alt-mode would begin to develop in a massive growth-spurt.

Cyclonus followed and stood behind, watchful red optics on the minibot and Megatron's children. His subspace had been mostly emptied in order to accommodate purchases. He was still armed—Sugoi did allow for weaponry. It had however been made completely clear that use of such would have a security team escorting him back to the Lost Light faster than he could explain himself.

“You three look so cute,” Nautica said from behind them as they waited for the decontamination cycle to pass in the middle airlock. “Where are you headed on the station?”

“Going shopping, and there's a play park for children as well,” Tailgate said proudly, feeling like a real parent. He saw that Nightbeat and Skids were with her as well. “How about you?”

“We're going to do a little shopping as well, and then at some point I'm going to ditch these two. Apparently there are some amazing bookstores in the Odessian Quarter,” she said with a laugh.

“Sounds like your kind of thing,” Tailgate said.

“You're headed for the Odessian bookstores as well?” came Rung's voice.

“I am,” said Nautica, straightening from her crouch to pet Synthesis. The mechling had considered her something of a friend ever since Tailgate had started taking him to Swerve's.

“Shall we head there together? I've been sprouting wheels since I looked up Sugoi Station and discovered them,” he said with an almost giddy tone.

“Same here,” she laughed.

“Maybe that's his alt-mode,” Nightbeat murmured to Skids. “Bookmobile.”

A disembodied voice suddenly announced that the decontamination process was complete and doors opened to the third airlock, and after passing through that they moved into immigration and customs, and at long last were set free on Sugoi Station.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate was thrilled—Sugoi was everything he'd hoped for. He'd soon found the draper's district and in the first store had found rugs for both bitlets. The next store had blankets, but none he cared for. The store after that however had an amazing selection of them, and after half a cycle he was trying to narrow down his selection.

Cyclonus, following along stoically, made it easy for him. “Buy all four,” he said.

“All four? But that will be expensive.”

The warrior just gave a snort and signaled to the shop keeper that he was ready to begin the transaction.

At the next shop, one full of pillows and luxury bedding, one of the female shop assistants was so excited to meet the bitlets. “Oh for cute!” she squeaked. “A little robot with little robot babies.” She reached out to Synthesis, who shyly approached her. He'd been rather confused about the organics they'd seen aboard the station. “We don't see many robots with babies. Lots of other aliens with their children though.”

Tailgate had noticed plenty of organics with their babies—some in carriers like Watch, some in arms, some riding in various carts and push-chairs. There had been some insectoid thing at the blanket store whose broad back was covered with a couple dozen miniature versions of itself.

“When you're done here, you'll have to take your family down to Cha-Cha's on the next level,” she said. “Biggest baby shop on the station. They have something for every race and species.”

“A store with things just for babies?”

“Mmm-hmm. Lots of lovely things for your family.” She looked up at Cyclonus. “Are you the daddy?”

“I am their guardian,” he said flatly. “These are the two children of our ship's co-captain and their nanny.”

“Such sweet things they are,” she said. Synthesis had dared to touch her outstretched hand and was now examining the soft greenish flesh. “Aren't you sweet?” she cooed at him.

“Soft,” he replied, squeezing her hand.

“Gently,” cautioned Tailgate. “Organics can be delicate.”

The shop girl gave a giggle. “You'll definitely have to take them down to Cha-Cha's.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

“I thought I'd find you somewhere down here,” said the voice.

Rung looked up from the text he was poring through to see Fervor smiling down at him. “Oh goodness. Did I lose track of the time?”

The big yellow Pyrobot grinned. “Naw, I'm just a bit early.”

Rung had allowed himself twelve cycles to shop for books, and he was amazed to see that time nearly at an end. The Odessian shops would be closing shortly anyway. He closed the book in hand, set it back into the rack where he'd found it, and then picked up the stack of books he was going to purchase. “Well give me a moment to pay for these, and then I'm yours.”

Fervor smirked. “Mine already? That was the shortest courtship ever. And here I heard you were shy and took your time.”

Rung would have blushed at the teasing were it possible.

“Here... let me assist,” said Fervor, taking the top half of the stack from Rung's hands. “You were right when you said you liked books.”

“Nautica left with twice as many,” Rung defended weakly.

“Not only an amazing dancer but a voracious reader as well,” he said, leading the way to the sales counter and placing the stack upon it. “I won't hold that against her.” He watched as Rung placed the second half of the stack beside the first. “And I won't hold it against you either if you're up for a night of fun now. I've found some great restaurants here that cater to mechanicals, and there's this amazing club that a bunch of us from the studio are going to. Firejump's going to be there... some of the other Pyrobots too.”

The Odessian shop clerk began to ring up the books and pack them into a couple of boxes, which Fervor put into his subspace before Rung could try to squeeze them in. And Fervor let out a muffled groan when the clerk announced the total.

Rung calmly paid.

“So then, ready for some excitement?” Fervor asked, taking Rung's hand and leading him out of the bookstore. “Some dining. Some dancing. Some entertainment. It'll be the best night ever since we left Cybertron.”

“Could we stop to buy some energon candy? If we see any?” Rung asked. His date must have been either very eager or very bored given his pace along the corridor.

The yellow mech smiled down at him again. “Of course, but only if you let me buy it for you. I asked you out so I'm paying. No arguments.”

Rung was beginning to wonder what this mech would be like as a companion. “Well, you did ask me out on shore-leave, and you did allow me time to first shop for books. I suppose I could let you pay for me, though it's really not necessary.”

Fervor just laughed and pulled him along. “We're going to have a great time together, Rung.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	25. Unpacking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of their visits to Sugoi Station, Tailgate and Rewind spend a bit of time in a bittersweet discussion about sparklings and conjunxes. Rung's visit, and date, has also come to an end.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rung gazed over the booty he'd brought back from Sugoi Station, all spread out on his table. Thirty-seven books, enough candy to last a stellar-cycle, a matched set of cushions for his office, a diaphanous divider curtain for his habsuite, and the baggy jacket-like garment that Fervor had insisted he have. “For those cold planets we sometimes stop on,” he'd said. The yellow mech had even dressed Rung in it, telling him quietly that he'd love to help him out of it later. Rung was sure that had been a subtle proposition.

Together they'd gone to two candy shops, a restaurant, and then the clothing store. Three more candy shops followed before indulging in a second restaurant. And at last they went to the nightclub everyone was so excited about. Fervor had danced with Rung at first, but then moved on to dancing with his fellow Pyrobots and some of the others from the dance studio. After a couple of cycles there, Fervor told his date that he and the other Pyrobots were going off to some other bar—just the Pyrobots—but that he'd walk Rung home first.

And that had been it.

At Rung's habsuite, he'd unloaded the books and the rest of the shopping onto the table, pulled Rung into his arms for a fast kiss, and departed with a wave and a cheeky grin. “Don't wait up for me,” he had called as he disappeared out the door.

Rung had stood there, cocooned in the thick grey and white jacket, staring at the door as it closed behind his date.

He looked again at the results of his successful expedition to Sugoi Station. And with a sigh he grabbed the book at the top of the closest pile and headed for his berth.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“You put her in a dress! That's so cute!” Rewind said, coming across Tailgate and Watch in one of the lounges along the Sugoian concourse, his arms full of shopping bags. “Where did you get a dress for her?”

Tailgate beamed, and he noticed that Rewind's recording light had just flicked on. “I found this store full of things for babies. There wasn't much specifically for mechanical babies, but the saleswoman there knew that Watch would fit some of their dresses.”

“It's really pretty,” Rewind complimented, setting down his purchases and leaning in closely. Said dress was white with purple trim, and decorated with ribbons and bows and indigo-blue embroidered flowers.

“The femme at the shop said it was a party dress. It was kinda expensive... but Watch is worth it. And I thought Megatron would like the colors. Cyclonus said they were nice.” He gave the sparkling a kiss on the top of her head, right in front of where a large matching bow had been attached to her helm with a dab of glue. Ever since Whirl had mentioned the circumstances of her origin, he'd made it a goal to erase that hate and replace it with love, joy, and beauty. He so wanted her to grow up to become a femme like Nautica or Velocity, whom everyone seemed to admire so much.

“Purple, of course.” Rewind reached out to pet the femmeling's head, at which she cooed happily.

“And look...” Tailgate lifted the multiple layers of fabric to reveal that underneath was some sort of lacy cloth garment, separate from the dress itself, encompassing her hip assembly. “The femme insisted she have some 'pretty panties' too, whatever they are.”

“Some sort of loincloth, I suppose. Most races wear a covering over their pelvic area.”

“They are kinda cute.”

“Has Megatron seen her yet?” Rewind asked.

Tailgate giggled. “Not yet. I thought I would surprise him when he finally came home after his long long shift.”

“Did you get anything for Synthesis?”

Tailgate grinned beneath his mask. “I bought him a Mauler soldier doll to play with. I know his parents have retired from being the military commanders they once were, but Synthesis picked it out from a display of all sorts of soft toys.” He looked over to where the mechling was bobbling along his feet down the wide, carpeted concourse, shrieking in excitement and running as fast as he could. Just behind him Ravage feigned pursuit. Cyclonus stood nearby, leaning against a pillar. “See?” The doll was tucked tightly under one arm. 

“Hmmm... just don't tell the command staff. I'm sure they don't want Synthesis taking after his carrier.”

“I'm not worried about that. Besides, the doll's made of cloth and soft plastic and is the friendliest looking fellow.”

Watch suddenly remembered yet again that she was covered in cloth, and started to paw at the dress. “Deh! Deh!” she chirped.

“Oh... She spoke!”

“Her first word!” Tailgate exclaimed. “Whatever it was. Not sure what 'deh' means. I'm not sure if we can actually call it a word.” 

“Dress, maybe? Or 'robots don't wear clothes so why am I wearing this?' perhaps?” Rewind suggested.

The two little bots giggled together and tried to get her to say more. “Maybe it means 'let's go back and shop some more',” Tailgate suggested.

“Or 'let's go get drunk off my aft like Rewind's conjunx did and ruin the end of shore-leave'.”

Tailgate looked up at Rewind. “Oh, Rewind. I'm sorry.”

The archivist sighed. “Not the first time it's happened. Certainly won't be the last.”

“Where is he now?”

“Sleeping it off in our habsuite I'm presuming. Brainstorm took him home for me.”

Tailgate held Rewind's hand. “I hope you two are doing well, besides that. I know things have been pretty up and down for you on this quest.”

“Things are as good as they could be, I suppose. I mean, after the whole duplicate Lost Light thing, we weren't sure what would happen. But now things are pretty much back to normal. As normal as they get...” Rewind gave Tailgate's hand a squeeze, and they both paused to watch as Synthesis made another pass.

“You and Chromedome never had any sparklings, did you?”

Rewind didn't look away from Synthesis, even as Ravage loped past. “No. I'm too small to spark him. And I've... I've been hesitant about carrying. It's never seemed to be the right time. Especially as there can be notable complications from our frame-type differences.”

“Were there children from his other conjunxes? Someone—I think Brainstorm—mentioned he'd had others before you.”

“No. At least none he's talked about.”

“Maybe someday the time will be right,” Tailgate said with rising encouragement. “You can wait. It's not like Megatron who's required to carry. He's going to have to find another sire soon.”

“And I'm sure you can't spark him for the same reason I can't spark Domey.”

Tailgate shook his head. “No.” And then he laughed. “But it would be nice if I could. Then I could be looking after my own children, not that I mind not looking after Megatron's children regardless of who sired them.” He suddenly startled as Synthesis tripped over his own feet and went sprawling onto the concourse floor. But the little mech kept laughing, and continued to laugh as Ravage picked him up in his mouth and carried him back to Cyclonus, who snapped the tether back onto the convoy. “I think that Ravage secretly likes the bitlets,” he whispered to Rewind.

Ravage immediately turned to stare at Tailgate.

“I know you do,” Tailgate whispered at the cat's gaze.

The cat-former narrowed his crimson optics and stalked away.

Tailgate smiled at Rewind. “Well I guess Synthesis is done playing. Time to head back aboard.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	26. Bedtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron and Tailgate catch up post-Sugoi. After Megatron feeds the sparkings and Tailgate puts them to bed, Tailgate takes care of Megatron's need for transfluid. Cyclonus is not amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One hundred kudos! Thank you so much to all my readers, and especially my regular readers, and extra-extra especially to my commenters.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Megatron returned to Habsuite 113 just after the Lost Light departed from Sugoi Station, where he found Tailgate asleep on the berth. A luxurious black blanket marked with embroidered stars of gold lay spread across the pad. A large cushion of black fabric lay atop the old one. On the other berth, Ravage lay in recharge upon a pale grey cushion, an elegant pattern of silver and gunmetal embroidery radiating out from beneath his dark frame. Beside Tailgate slept Watch, dressed in some sort of fluffy, lacy clothing. More of the same seemed to have been adhered to her head.

As he moved to the energon dispenser, Watch stirred and sat up, casting an inquiring chirp in his direction.

“Clothing?” he asked.

“A shopkeeper talked him into it,” Ravage answered, not even on-lining his optics.

Megatron of course knew the cat was awake. “Please tell me that's not a pet bed.”

“It's not a pet bed,” Ravage rumbled back. “They sold other things at the pet-supply store as well.”

Megatron shook his head, and then broke the seal on his cube. Across the room he sat three more neatly folded blankets stacked in a pile atop the table. Next to them appeared to be two rolled-up rugs.

“Deh!” cried Watch as Megatron lifted the cube to his lips.

Megatron froze before he could drink. “Watch?”

“Deh!”

Megatron took a long pull from the cube and then approached the berth. Maybe the new bedding was a bit plush and luxurious for his tastes—as if he'd bought it in hopes of luring someone into sharing it with him—but it was nicer than he'd expected Tailgate to choose. Perhaps Cyclonus had offered some opinions. He did have to admit that Tailgate looked rather attractive upon it though, his clean blue and white plating rather show-cased by the velvety black fabric and somewhat aggrandized by the halo of golden stars around him.

Watch was reaching out for him. “Deh! Deh!” she squeaked.

“Almost a word,” he rumbled and quickly downed the rest of the cube and picked her up.

“Deh!” she said again, tapping with a tiny three-fingered hand at a chest seam.

“I see you're hungry too.”

Moving to a chair he sat and opened his chest, and she all but lunged for the nozzle, hands grasping desperately at the pouch. Megatron could not help but chuckle. “I see that Tailgate didn't feed you at all while he was away.”

Her mouth latched onto the tip of the pouch and she began to suck at it hard.

“Easy there,” Megatron said softly. “If you make a mess and soil your clothing, I suspect that Tailgate's not going to be happy.”

“It's washable,” Ravage said, optics still shuttered.

Tailgate began to wake slowly, and after a couple of kliks he sat up, optics dim as he looked over at Megatron feeding his daughter.

“Have a nice time on Sugoi Station?” Megatron asked, looking over at the minibot.

“Oh, Megatron. I wish you could have come with us,” he said with some regret.

“I'm sure it was quite interesting. Did you have enough filtered energon for the bitlets?”

“I did. It held out just long enough. And Synthesis did take a bit of my own fuel as well.”

“And there was enough even for the proto-leech?” he asked, looking down at his daughter, her normal silver and white surrounded in a cloud of white and purple fabric.

Tailgate sighed. He hated it when Megatron called them such demeaning things. “She had enough. But I do expect she's hungry now.”

“She's sucking hard enough on me I think she might be drawing some transfluid as well. And how was the hotel?” He'd booked them a place to stay at a centrally located spot on the station, knowing that at some point the expedition party would want to recharge, and possibly on a moment's notice given the bitlets. Rather than having to get all the way back to the Lost Light, it would be simplest to have a retreat there.

“It was very nice, and very comfortable. Cyclonus even thought it was nice. Oh, I do wish you could have come with us. There was a stand outside that sold energon goodies, and a play park the sparklings could visit nearby.” Tailgate moved over to the table and showed Megatron the other three blankets and the two rugs. Then he fetched Synthesis from his crib, who immediately demanded to nurse the moment he saw his carrier.

Tailgate continued to tell Megatron about the shopping and the places they went until the sparklings were full. Tailgate carefully removed the dress and bow from Watch and placed them into a drawer for the next occasion. Then he tucked her into her crib and her older brother into his cage. “How were things on the bridge?” he asked.

“Completely dull and uneventful. And the crew behaved themselves on Sugoi so I didn't even get to talk to their security corps.”

“Well that's good.”

Megatron moved for the berth and lay down where Tailgate and Watch had been. “I need it tonight,” he said tiredly, propping himself against the new cushion.

Tailgate perked. “Oh, of course. It's been a couple days, hasn't it.” He hurried to the bed and hopped up, moving between the co-captain's legs.

Megatron watched through half-shuttered optics as their routine began. Tailgate would first gently rub at the cover over his array, warming it and encouraging him to open. And then the little mech would tenderly massage the outer mesh of his valve, shyly flicking his fingers over the glowing exterior node. He would continue until there was enough lubricant to ease the next step. Then Tailgate would open his own array and manually draw out his little blue and silver spike. At this point he'd always whisper something endearing such as “tell me if it feels uncomfortable” or “let me know if I'm going too hard on you.” Megatron always did his best not to show any amusement at the statement. And finally Tailgate would re-position himself, enter him in a single, slow roll of his hips, and begin to thrust away with all the stamina and enthusiasm minibots were known for.

This time was no different, and the little mech had at him as always eventually slowing after three overloads and barely eking out a fourth before collapsing beside him. He then managed to close himself up and all but tumble off of the berth as Megatron drifted toward a pleasant recharge. “Goodnight Tailgate,” Megatron murmured as he shifted into a more comfortable position for sleeping.

“Goodnight, Megatron” whimpered Tailgate as he staggered out the door.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Cyclonus stared. “Tailgate?”

The little blue and white buggy sat in the hallway outside of the elevator, the nose of his vehicle mode pressed into the wall.

“Tailgate? Are you awake?”

There was no response.

Scowling, the purple mech picked him up, tucked him under one arm, and carried him back to their habsuite.

As he entered the minibot began to shift. “Hmmm? Oh... where am I? Was I at Swerve's?”

“You're in our quarters,” Cyclonus responded brusquely.

“Oh, good,” was the sleepy answer.

With another sigh, Cyclonus put Tailgate on his berth and pulled a blanket over him. He would have to speak to Megatron again about this.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	27. Thoughtfulness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krok's quite thoughtful regarding the minibot he's been sharing a berth with. Cyclonus is quite thoughtful regarding Tailgate's commitments, even if Megatron hasn't been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up here, this story is in for the long haul. You might want to hit subscribe. Yesterday I made a hard copy of my draft and went through it, organizing the scenes ahead. There are ten more chapters organized, and beyond that lie eighty more either written or planned scenes that haven't yet been divided into chapters.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Krok left the washracks, toweling off the last of the water from his shower. He never used to think about it, but now after every scavenging expedition and sorting session he cleaned himself diligently. Now that he was sharing a berth, especially with a medic, it just seemed a much more civil thing to do.

Half an orn ago the tiny thing had begun to explore the Weak Anthropic Principle and fix up the medibay. A few days later, even though she'd not spoken much, she'd begun interacting with them—primarily seeing to neglected repairs and general upkeep. Spinister was good at emergency repairs or straightforward surgery, but he'd never been properly trained as a doctor. It was nice to have someone who could diagnose problems before they became real problems. Presumably as long as she was in mourning she'd remain with them, and frankly, Krok wouldn't have minded it if Nickel simply continued in mourning, spending her days moping while she tended to them.

And while he wouldn't admit it to anyone else, it was nicer yet to cuddle her to his chest when tucking down into recharge. It had been a long time since he'd had someone to recharge with. They were regular berth partners now, sharing a slab, to which he'd added a decent—if slightly gunshot—mattress they'd found somewhere back when. A couple of tatty pillows followed. It was all quite platonic of course, even the nightly kiss he pressed to the side of her helm, and the way he held her quite chaste. And honestly that was all he wanted of her, because the warm sensation of her field brushing against his was slowly spoiling him, and it was a definite comfort.

Naturally, the others teased him about his conjunx, and about her beginning to domesticate him.

Let them tease. Since that first night he'd climbed into her berth to quiet her sobbing he'd been recharging better than he ever had before.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Megatron glared up at the tall purple mech standing on the opposite side of the desk from him. “This is the second time you've confronted me about Tailgate. I'm beginning to think you have feelings for him. Did something happen on Sugoi Station between you two?”

Cyclonus was unfazed. “I do not have feelings for him. Only concerns.”

“Your concerns are duly noted.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Yes?” Megatron prompted when Cyclonus did turn and leave.

“If you would allow it, I will stand in for him tonight,” he said flatly.

Megatron cocked a brow ridge in surprise. “You understand what he does for me, right?”

“I have sired four sparklings. While it has been quite some time since then, I am fully aware of what the duties to a carrier entail.”

The co-captain was much amused. “Well then. How about once right now and once at the end of my shift. Might do you a bit of good too.”

Cyclonus turned his head to the side, as if he'd been insulted but did not wish to address it. “Just open up and I shall see to your need for transfluid.”

The jet was apparently taking the suggestion of 'right now' quite literally. Megatron looked down at Rodimus' already defaced desktop. What would a few more scratches be? “With pleasure.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	28. Facing Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung gets pretty hot and bothered at Casual Night again. Megatron has yet another proposal for Tailgate.

-o-o-o-o-o-

It was Casual Night again, and Rung sat with Turbine, a plate of energon goodies and two rather large cubes of some of 'the yellow stuff' as Turbine called it sitting on a tray between them. The psychiatrist watched Nautica on the dance floor, slowly twisting and flowing through Skids' arms, as fluid as a silk scarf tossed into a river. As before, calling their dance a samba was rather misleading, unless 'samba' was simply the term the Chassians gave to public interface. All right, their panels were still closed up, amazingly so. More amazing was that no one's panels had popped open during their undeniably erotic dance.

It was then that he realized that was what he wanted. Someone to dance with. Someone to move with. A partner. A lover. Someone at his side when the work shift was over. Someone to read to and to read to him. Someone to love and love him back. Someone he could trust with his bright spark and his deep need for closeness.

He thought back to Sugoi Station. There had been a moment there in one of the bookstores, where he'd looked over to see her sitting on the floor, a huge organic tome spread open in her lap, her expression one of such perfect concentration. A pile of books she'd selected for purchase sat beside her. Her wrench hung from her hip, its lights glowing softly. The tinkling ambient music playing in the store and the exotic scent of aged organic paper had only enhanced the moment. There'd come a pulse of warmth through his systems, one of admiration and desire. 

But of course Nautica and Skids had found each other. Chances were they'd be together forever.

He regretted not having introduced himself to her earlier with the intent of a relationship. But how could he ever regret her relationship with Skids? They were such a perfect couple—one of the best he'd ever seen. The outlier was one amazing mech himself. And Rung was also regretting not having pursued something with him. How could he have been so timid back at the beginning, back when the blue mech had rescued him from the sparkeater. That would have been the perfect introduction, to be able to throw himself at Skids shamelessly yet honorably in gratitude. But he'd let that window of opportunity pass.

Rung was dragged from his thoughts by someone sitting downbeside him, and looking over he saw Firejump.

“Hey Firejump,” Turbine greeted.

“Hello,” was Rung's modest welcome.

The dark red mech returned the salutations and took an energon gel from the plate when Rung held it over to him.

“I see the way you watch them,” Firejump said to Rung in a soft voice when Turbine was distracted by Doubletap's calling.

Rung flushed with a bit of warmth. “They're beautiful to watch together.”

“Come over tomorrow after first shift. I'll start your lessons on how to dance like that.”

Rung gave an awkward laugh. “I don't think I could ever move like that, especially with someone else.”

Firejump gave an amused hum. “You could with the right teacher,” he purred into Rung's audial.

Rung chuckled awkwardly. Was Firejump hitting on him? But the Pyrobot rose and moved on to the datapad hooked into the sound system, looking to see what music was cued up. Moments later Doubletap replaced him at Rung's side. “What did Firejump say?”

Rung had no reason to hide the conversation. “He was inviting me to come take dance lessons.”

The tank-former brightened. “That would be great if you did! You and I could dance together. It would be a lot of fun. You're so small and lithe, I bet you'd be awesome as the smaller partner in some of these dances.” Doubletap suddenly sucked in a deep invent. “You and I would be amazing together at the Helexian Pavanne,” he exclaimed.

Turbine started laughing. “Doubletap. Hands off. He's mine tonight, remember?” the jet teased his friend. “But Rung, if you did take lessons, I bet you'd do very well.”

Rung was shaking his head. “I'm fairly sure I'm not cut out for it.”

“Well if you do, let me know. I'd love to be your training partner,” Doubletap said excitedly.

Turbine shifted his position and pushed the cube of drink into Rung's hands. “But for now, you're my drinking partner,” he grinned. “Now drink up and loosen up that field of yours a little. You're all wound-up so tightly I might as well be out on a date with Ultra Magnus.”

Rung looked at the cube in his hands, and then at Nautica and Skids once more. She stood behind him now, her hands oozing down his thighs. Turbine was probably right. Rung brought the cube to his mouth and drank deeply despite his better judgment.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“You're late,” said Tailgate as Megatron returned just over a cycle late from his shift. “Was there some trouble on the bridge?” The minibot sat in one of the chairs feeding Watch. The bitlet had grown impatient for her expected dinner and Tailgate decided not to wait any longer for her carrier.

Megatron smirked. “Just some business that needed taking care of.” He noted that said business was only a third processed so far. Cyclonus had been a generous donor. “Cyclonus was in to see me about you a second time.”

Tailgate gave an involuntary squeeze to the pouch he was feeding Watch from, filtered energon splattering messily over the sparkling's face. When he saw what he'd done, he quickly grabbed a towel and began to wipe her clean as she coughed, trying to clear the fuel from her intake. “Wh-what did he say?”

“He was not pleased to have found you asleep in the hallway yesterday.

Upset about the surge of energon Watch began to fuss, waving her arms and crying “Weh! Weh!” at her nanny.

Megatron moved over and took her into his arms. At this she smiled, her cry changing to “May! May!” and her fingers went for the seams in his chest. Megatron obligingly opened for her. 

Moments later Synthesis was at his feet demanding to be fed as well. His soldier doll hung from one hand. “Up! Pick-up!” he demanded of the mech towering above him. “My wants fuel!”

Megatron chuckled. “How about I have Tailgate bring you a cup of energon?”

“No! Up!” The silver convoy stretched upwards as far as he could, dropping his doll in the process.

With a sigh Megatron picked him up and shoved him against the pouch. “Fine. Drink.”

The bitlet grabbed at the nozzle, latching his mouth and hands onto it hard enough to cause Megatron to wince. 

“What did Cyclonus say about it?” Tailgate asked nervously.

“He said I'm still demanding too much of you. That you're obviously not able to keep up with your crewmember's workload as well as your seeing to the sparklings and to my needs.”

“I could cut down to one or two overloads a night. Maybe three or four is pushing it for me,” Tailgate offered quickly.

“I spoke with Ultra Magnus,” Megatron said calmly. “I will be moving into larger quarters as these will probably begin to feel quite cramped when Synthesis begins his growth spurt. There is apparently an officer's family suite available. You and the bitlets and Ravage and I will move into these larger quarters together,” he explained succinctly.

“Me? Move in with you?”

“You'll be able to watch the sparklings more easily, and what we do will become none of Cyclonus' business.”

“Moving in with you?” Tailgate looked about Megatron's present quarters, which were of the standard size and configuration for two large mechs. Of course they'd have to move to larger quarters. There was no way he would share a berth with Ravage. Though he'd come to trust the cat-former not to attack he was still quite leery of him. And it wouldn't be long before Synthesis would require a berth of his own. The mechling's crib was already feeling a bit tight when Tailgate tucked him into it.

“In addition, I will be dropping your duty roster from a regular schedule to assignments as needed. You'll have more time here to see to the children, especially as it's becoming more difficult for me to keep an eye on Synthesis while I'm on the bridge.”

“And that's okay with everyone?”

“I'm co-captain. Of course it's okay with everyone.”

“Even Rodimus?”

Megatron's one free hand clenched into a fist. “Rodimus won't care as long as it doesn't interfere with his agenda.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	29. There is Nothing Like a Femme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung realizes how attracted he's become to Nautica. Krok realizes how attached he's become to Nickel.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rung quickly glanced to see who'd just claimed a block of his time. It wasn't like Whirl was saying much right now anyway. Whirl hadn't said much for the past week in fact despite coming into his office on a daily basis. And each day he came in and ranted and raved about the command staff and then about Megatron and how wrong it was that Megatron was allowed to roam free and vampirize an innocent little mech, all the while keeping a sweet little sparkling from her sire. Trying to get Whirl to talk about something meaningful rarely worked. Trying to get Whirl to talk about himself usually ended up with Whirl talking about various crew members and what he'd like to do to them...if he were “that kind of mech.” He knew where the line lay between Rung's silence and what the psychiatrist would be required to report. What he'd like to do to them usually fell into one of two categories, either perverse sexual things or violent painful things. Rung, knowing that Whirl knew that line, suspected that the rotary often exaggerated.

Nautica had requested a session.

Nautica?

Rung felt a cold shudder run through his transfluid lines. This would make her a patient.

Yes, he knew she was unavailable. She and Skids were nearly inseparable when not attending to their shipboard duties. Her optics were for him alone, much to the disappointment of so many others, himself included. In her 'reason for appointment' that was doubly confirmed. She'd filled in “Considering conjunxing and would like some advice.”

She wanted to talk about making her relationship with Skids a permanent one. The moment she stepped into his office she'd be unavailable until the Lost Light's journey came to an end. And beyond that if she and Skids committed so deeply.

As Whirl blabbed on about how Jackpot had wronged him in regards to a bet they'd made, the memory of her at the bookstore welled up again. She really would have been a good match for him.

“Hey Eyebrows, I know this was a complete travesty, but you don't have to cry about it,” Whirl suddenly said, rolling onto his side where he lay on the couch.

Rung suddenly jolted to attention, quickly swiping at his optics.

They were dry.

“Okay, you weren't actually crying but you can if you want. You just looked pretty depressed there.”

Rung frowned. This really shouldn't be affecting him so much.

-o-o-o-o-o-

They'd come across an abandoned Decepticon warship as they made their way back to Cybertron. Its name, emblazoned in purple across the bow, identified it quickly as the Glorious Second Resolution,” a well-armed blockade runner that had gone missing late in the war. And while they were clearly not the first to discover it since its loss, it was worth taking a look so see if anything worthwhile remained.

They promptly docked the Weak Anthropic Principle against the warship's hull and boarded, moving with a practiced efficiency through the hull. They soon confirmed that the ship had been stripped of both its engines and its guns, along with its fuel. But a pleasant surprise awaited. The crew quarters had been mostly ignored, and more importantly, the medibay had been left intact. Krok swore he heard Nickel squeak with delight on finding this. “I'm going to need some sort of supply crates to haul all this out of here!” she said excitedly, the happiest she'd sounded since they'd found her.

Krok brought down two hoverdollies equipped with cargo bins. “Find some good stuff?” he asked her, arriving in the surprisingly large medibay. The minibot had already stacked quite a bit upon one of the mediberths.

“Whoever was the doctor here knew how to keep his cases organized and stocked. We'll be set for all sorts of trouble. I should even be able to do something with Crankcase's head now,” she said holding up some unfriendly looking piece of equipment in one hand and pointing at it with the other.

Krok raised an optic ridge. “There does seem to be a lot here.”

“Probably more than we'll ever need. I might be able to sell some of it.” She placed the unknown medical tool carefully onto a different berth that seemed to be accumulating tools and went back to the cupboard she was digging in.

“That good, eh?”

“Yes, and now if you're not doing anything else, could you put that stuff on the central mediberth into one of the bins?”

“Of course.” Krok was happy to oblige, and he set to the task.

At one point, when she dumped an armload of small packages onto the mediberth, he was sure he caught a smile across her flattish face.

There came a squeak again when next she was back in the current cupboard. “Oh dear Primus! I'll be able to fix those stubborn rotators in Fulcrum's hips! Do you know how much that squeak he's got grates on me?” She came out of the cupboard and set another piece of equipment on the mediberth.

Krok grinned beneath his helm. When distracted from her sorrows she was absolutely adorable. At least he thought her so. And with these sudden statements from her about what she could fix, it was obvious she thought herself as part of their crew. Or at least she felt some responsibility toward his crew.

He should try to get her to become a Decepticon, essentially forcing her to stay. Or perhaps if one of the others could develop some sort of romantic relationship with her, she'd hang around as long as that lasted. Which admittedly probably wouldn't be long. Or he could court her himself, provided he couldn't persuade her to enlist. She was adorable after all.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	30. Love and Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyclonus confronts Megatron a final time over Tailgate. Rung undergoes a torturous session with Nautica.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, I just want to venture a thank you to Emily, Kat, and Aru—you know who you are—for their suggestions regarding Rung's search for love. His special someone will be discovered eventually, but for now the identity of that special someone remains my secret (though to be fair that someone has already been introduced in this story).

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Cyclonus... Another visit so soon?” the Tetrahexian stood before him yet again on the the bridge of the Lost Light.

“Tailgate tells me that he's moving in with you and your...” he hesitated, looking to the femmeling suckling at Megatron's chest. “...your family.” It had to be more than coincidence that her chosen colors were a combination of those of her carrier and nanny.

“He loves the bitlets. You know that. This way he can be closer to them and take better care of them. I have, despite his protests, relieved him of the majority of his regular maintenance duties to give him more time for their care.”

“Oh? And did you command this?”

“I did, but he willingly accepted.”

Cyclonus cocked a brow ridge.

“Your expression, Cyclonus, tells me that you're not convinced.” Megatron rose from the command chair and beckoned the purple mech into his office, where Cyclonus immediately went to brood at the window.

Megatron opted for a chair nearby rather than the executive desk. He got the feeling that he and Cyclonus would not be adding to its surface decoration today. “There was some hesitation on his part if that's what you're wondering. The little fellow has a strong work ethic and worried that the tasks he'd been seeing to would not get done. I assured him that they would, and convinced him that his time would be better spent caring for the offspring.”

“Offspring...” Cyclonus repeated. “Your feelings are so clear.”

There came a long pause. “This sentence has been a most unusual twist of fate. Things haven't turned out as I thought they would, or even imagined.” He looked down to the tiny femme, undaunted in her nursing. “I always expected to fall on the battlefield, battered and exhausted and finally meeting my end at the hands of one of the Autobot hard-hitters. Probably falling to Prime himself. And then when the war ended, I expected to be marched off to the executioner after a mockery of a trial. But this...” His laugh was sardonic. “I still live, but that little victory is a Pyrrhic one. These 'offspring' are my punishment and my prison and my shame. You cannot expect me to love them.”

“You did what you could to survive. No one would ever fault you for that.”

“Tailgate is the first to take any real interest in my children. Not even their sires have done that much, unless you count Whirl's deranged curiosity. Tailgate has the rare capability of loving almost unconditionally. I think I need that right now, that rare bit of beauty. These pathetic little souls certainly need him, and I believe he needs them as well.” He looked back up at Cyclonus. “I have a great respect for you, Cyclonus. If you do not want him to move in with us, I will halt the process as a favor to you.”

Cyclonus continued to stare out the window, saying nothing.

Megatron rose and moved to stand at his side. “You mentioned that you'd been a sire four times before. Were you considering a fifth? With him? Was the trip to Sugoi an inspiring one? Did the process of filling up a carrier with transfluid stir up old feelings? Tell me about those previous carriers.”

Cyclonus gave a snort. “You talk like Rung.”

Megatron gave a hum of amusement. “I'll take that as a no on all counts, then.”

“It is a resounding no.”

“So until then I shall continue as planned. I sincerely believe Tailgate will be happier living with us. We'll all be happier with him there. And conversely, he needs someone to love and that someone loving him back. He needs to feel wanted. These bitlets certainly do that for him.”

Cyclonus stared at Megatron now. The former emperor, who'd slain millions, whose revolution had brought their race to the brink of extinction, was now embracing love and loving.

Watch's sucking and kneading of the pouch had begun to slow and then it ceased. Megatron gave her face and himself a quick wipe before closing up.

“You are welcome to visit at any time, either Tailgate or myself. It's not like I'm cloistering him away.”

This time Cyclonus gave a small harrumph. “Treat him well and use his resources wisely. I'd rather not have to keep visiting.” And with that the jet stalked quickly out of the office.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Nautica lay on Rung's couch staring up at the ceiling, her faceplate running a multitude of emotions as she spilled her thoughts to Rung. He was amazed at how her voice could connect so easily to her spark and processors. Her fears and joys and anxieties and desires all gushed out in a fountain of articulate words.

If only all of his patients could communicate this easily.

“Do you think you would have a good future with him?” Rung asked somberly. Why was he putting himself through this? He should have turned down the request for an appointment.

“I think I would. I mean, I've never conjunxed with anyone before so it's not like I have experience at it. I'm going to assume he and I are intelligent and stable enough to deal with any problems along the way. I mean, no one ever has a perfect relationship, right? Heck, look at Chromedome and Rewind. They're like this amazing couple but even they have arguments. I heard from Brainstorm that sometimes Rewind kicks Chromedome out of their habsuite for a while over some issue and Chromedome ends up shacking up with Brainstorm for a few days while they calm down and figure it out.”

“So I've heard...” said Rung lightly. Boy, did he ever hear. Either one or the other and sometimes both would be in when that happened.

“But I do think Skids and I could handle it. He's very eager too, and he says the thing that worries him most about it would be his missing memories returning to haunt us. He says he'll try to convince Chromedome to go back in, because he doesn't want to hurt us, or hurt me, by what might be there.”

Rung scrolled through a few things on his conference windows, and found what Chromedome had shared with him, and why he'd pulled out. “That may not be necessary, Nautica, provided you two have the strength and resolve to deal with what may or may not be there.”

“I suppose there's that...” She turned and looked at Rung. “Rung, do you think we'd be strong enough to make it? I've only had an amica, and that didn't go so well. But, do you think we'd be good together? As partners forever?”

Rung looked at the femme, lying on his couch. This was the moment, and in that moment life with Nautica flashed through his processors. Fingers entwined with hers. Lying together on the makeshift couches at Casual Night. Her dancing for the group but with her optics on him alone. Shore-leave and bookstores. Evenings at Swerve's, watching her drink and him hauling her home afterward. Kisses indulged in the elevator. Desires indulged on the couch in a shared habsuite. Nights spent recharging in each other's arms. Mornings spent in reminiscence.

He could feel his spark begin to gutter. The orange plating in his fantasies shifted to blue. All that belonged to Skids. Not to him.

“I think you two are perfect for each other,” Rung said weakly.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	31. New Quarters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron moves his extended family into their new suite. Whirl comes looking for trouble.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The day came and Tailgate and Megatron moved into a newly prepared Habsuite 034 along with the sparklings and Ravage. Despite there being five of them they had few possessions among themselves, and so the three mechs assigned to assisting them had an easy job of it. They simply picked up the packed crates before hauling them over to the new home.

Tailgate was much impressed with the new quarters. “It's so big!” he exclaimed in awe. He was still in amazed that Megatron would invite him to live with himself and the sparklings. And not just for a night or for an orn, but with some assumption of permanence. There was a large sitting area where Synthesis' crib-cage and their crates of belongings had been placed temporarily. A spacious work area contained a nice area for the preparation of energon and foods and drinks. A separate berthroom had been modified into a nursery. The windows were larger and provided a magnificent view of the stars. The main berthroom had an attached wash rack 

After inspecting the rest of the suite, Megatron sat on the couch, putting his feet up on one of the crates. Tailgate soon came over with Watch in his arms. “There's only one berth in the bedroom,” he announced.

“I saw.”

“These family suites are designed to house an officer and his conjunx as well as either their offspring or a secretary in the second berthroom.”

“So then where am I to recharge? The other berthroom has been fitted for the sparklings.”

To his surprise, Megatron put his hands around Tailgate's waist and lifted both the nanny and his charge into his lap. “I thought we should share. We're being intimate already. It would make things more convenient.”

“Your... your berth? Y-you want me to recharge with you?” He'd slept on Megatron's bed plenty of times before while waiting for the co-captain to return home, but they'd never shared it in recharge.

Megatron fixed him with an unreadable smile. “Very convenient for the donations,” he said smoothly, his mouth just a finger's breadth from Tailgate's audial.

Tailgate gasped, holding on to Watch all the closer, trying to distract himself which wasn't difficult as nearby Synthesis was unpacking his small crate of toys by tipping it over onto the floor. He was trying not to fixate upon the fact that Megatron actually wanted to share a bed. The donations to date had been dutiful and impersonal. Megatron didn't even overload with them. This... recharging together... was very personal.

“Speaking of donations, how about we go check out that berth right now? Before we start unpacking? Did you see the nice thick pad on it?” Without even waiting for an answer, he rose, lifting Tailgate gently to the floor. “Now go tuck Watch down for a nap and I'll go warm up that bed, all right?”

The minibot felt a flush of heat through his systems. “Yessir. If you think now is a good time. Unless you wanted me to unpack the cushions and covers first.” Ravage had already dragged his fancy pet bed from the crate and settled it into a shadowy corner.

Megatron looked over the crates and shortly spotted the one that contained the bedding. “I'll go unpack the cushions and covers. You go see to Watch. Then come join me.”

Nodding with both enthusiasm and obedience, Tailgate hurried off.

Was this what it was like to have a conjunx?

-o-o-o-o-o-

Whirl plucked Watch from her nanny's hands before Tailgate could do anything about it.

“Whirl! Put her down!” Tailgate wailed, trying to find a way out of the rotary's grip. One massive claw held Tailgate back while the other dangled the bitlet in front of his single optic.

Watch of course could feel the link to her sire and simply hung there, regarding him with yellow optics.

“Whirl! Please! You're not supposed to have contact with her.”

The big yellow eye swung down to the minibot. “Oh really? Did Mommy Megs say that? Well that might explain a few things.”

“Yes. Now please give her back. I was taking her up to the bridge.”

“For Mommy Megs to feed?” Whirl chuckled. “Give me one of her energon pouches. I know you have some on you. You always have some on you. I'm going to feed her myself. I keep trying to be a good father but someone keeps interfering.”

“You're not supposed to touch her,” Tailgate pleaded. “Please don't make me call security on you.”

“She's my daughter. You can't deny me spending a little time with her.”

“Tay!” Watch called, suddenly deciding she'd had enough of dangling.

“What's that, little one?” Whirl asked, now shifting his attention back to her.

“Tay-tay!” she called again a little more anxiously, this time reaching for the minibot.

Whirl groaned and put the little thing back into Tailgate's arms, where she immediately snuggled into them. “Sure. Choose your nursemaid over your real parent,” he huffed. “Well then let me at least watch you feed her. You could be kind enough to give me that, right?”

Tailgate hesitated.

“Right?” Whirl insisted, crouching to stare optic to optic.

“Megatron will be upset.”

“Then you can just tell the Slagmaker that he can take it up with me. Now go on. Feed her so I can watch.”

Intimidated, Tailgate pulled out one of the pouches of energon, kept warm by the heat of his own frame. Next he made a show of looking for somewhere better than the corridor to sit. Then deciding on the open area at the end of hallway, he walked there and sat upon some crates that had long been abandoned in the space. Whirl hovered close for every moment, and even closer when Tailgate sat Watch upon his lap and released the seal on the bag.

Watch took the nozzle in her tiny hands, brought it to her mouth, and began to drink. Her optics moved back and forth between her nanny and her sire as she did so.

Whirl was surprisingly quiet until she finished. And then as Tailgate cleaned her mouth and hands, he poked at the Autobot logo on Tailgate's chest. “I don't think you deserve to wear this. Everyone thought it was cute at first, but then you became Megatron's little pet.”

“I'm not his little pet,” huffed Tailgate. “Now are you done?”

Whirl cackled. “I'll never be done. I still have to make sure she grows up. And then I have to teach her to fight like her daddy does. A shame she's not a rotary like her daddy though. But at least she's got a combat alt-mode.”

Tailgate suddenly looked at Watch with a scrutinizing gaze. He'd never really thought about her alt-mode for some reason. Synthesis had obviously been a convoy-build from the beginning, but Watch's form had been somewhat vague. There was something of her sire's litheness, but she clearly wasn't a rotary. The heavy areas on her back and legs might be the early start of supports for tank treads. The odd projections on her shoulders? Who knew? What was Whirl seeing that he wasn't?

“Yep. I'll teach her to fight. Maybe she'll accidentally kill her carrier someday while practicing. Wouldn't that be nice?” Whirl said wickedly.

“Whirl, go away before I call security on you. Haven't you given us enough trouble?” Tailgate snapped.

The storm-blue mech rose and sauntered away. “I'm nothing but trouble. You should know that, you fake Autobot,” he called from down the corridor.

Tailgate gasped.

“A fake Autobot's little fake Autobot pet!” Whirl howled.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	32. Issues in Need of Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung contemplates his problems, which aren't his alone. Megatron confronts Whirl again, leading to a fight in the fuel furnace. But worse than any physical wound is the emotional blow Megatron strikes to his opponent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In MTMTE #28 Whirl confronts Megatron and they have an epic battle. In “Heavy Duty” this scene has been shifted to Whirl fragging Megatron, and then Megatron demanding that Whirl spark him. And here in the second scene of this chapter we have it again, in which Whirl and Megatron duke it out over unresolved issues. Don't expect a happy ending this time either.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rung lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling of his office, hands behind his head, ankles crossed, contemplating Cybertronian nature as he had a thousand times before over the eons.

Another date. This time with Pointblank, whom he'd known from the Kimia Facility. And the end of said date was just as all his others—what seemed a sincere expression of interest followed by a quick departure. Though Rung couldn't say he was all that disappointed this time. Pointblank was just as he remembered—tall, handsome, and still convinced that he was Primus' gift to the Autobot cause.

What was their problem? Why were they such a frustrated and pent-up race? Before the war, at least a quarter of his clientele would lie there on his couch just as he was right now, complaining about how lonely or sexually frustrated they were. During the war the numbers went up to about a third. Since the war, the numbers had gone up even further. Another doctor had remarked recently in a psychiatric journal that half of his clients saw him for PTSD while the other half were there because of loneliness or sexual frustration. Someone else had joked that a truly successful psychiatrist was one who owned a brothel next door to his office.

And what was his own problem? Why was he lonely? He'd tripled his office traffic and had now dated four different mechs since the second launch. He had another date lined up with yet another completely new mech and Turbine had him engaged already for the next Casual Night—but every night he was still going home to an empty hab-suite. Was he that fussy? Was he subconsciously unwilling to start a relationship in case one of these mechs ever needed his help professionally? Was he giving off some touch-me-not vibe that was scaring any longer-term relationships away? Had he somehow become fixated upon Nautica and was comparing all the other to her, and not being pleased with the results? Was it that silly bathtub video?

Perhaps he should talk to Rodimus about opening a brothel next to his office. He could use it himself.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“I warned you Whirl!” Megatron bellowed along the corridor where he'd caught up to the rotary mech. “And you chose not to heed that warning.”

Whirl chuckled. “We both knew this was going to happen sooner or later.” And then he lashed out at Megatron, his claw catching the silver mech and slamming him into the access doors behind him.

“Old scores and all that?” Megatron asked, finding his footing.

“I was going to break you into a thousand pieces the last time, but somehow you seduced me. Tricked me into siring for you,” Whirl seethed.

“I don't think there was any seduction involved,” Megatron retorted. “I simply made the offer and you were so pathetic and desperate you took it.”

Whirl screeched at the insult, and he flung himself at the co-captain, grappling him and smashing them both through the doors, onto a catwalk in the fuel furnace, and off the catwalk to the main floor below. They landed with a heavy crunch on the decking. Two of the Pyrobots, almost indistinguishable from each other in the orange light of the furnace, instinctively leapt between the two intruders and the furnace to defend it.

Megatron and Whirl broke apart and staggered to their feet, glowering at each other as they took fighting stances.

“Your itty bitty frag-toy says I'm not allowed to see my daughter any more,” Whirl snarled. “Even if you forced me to sire her, she's still my sparkling.”

“Your daughter? You abandoned her even before she was born,” Megatron countered. “Explain that if you wanted her so much!”

“I don't have to explain myself to you or to anyone,” Whirl replied. But as he cocked his head flippantly in giving the answer, Megatron dove in with a blow, clasping his hands together and swinging them upwards. Whirl was caught under the chin and he tumbled back. But the copter was quick on his feet and he retaliated with a long kick that first impacted in Megatron's groin before hitting him just below the chestplate.

Megatron fell forward with a grunt and Whirl was able to slam him up against one of the Lost Light's fuel feedlines. With a little maneuvering Whirl got a pincer around the silver mech's neck, holding him there while his opponent's feet scrabbled against the floor, seeking purchase. The Pyrobots, now three in number, were shrieking for them to stop the fight for fear of damage to the ship.

“Give up?” Whirl asked, tightening his grip.

“You actually think you've won?” Megatron taunted. He ceased struggling for a moment, crimson optics blazing at the former Wrecker.

“Not yet, but I'm sure it won't be long. You know I'm a match for anything the Decepticons ever threw at me. I've just never had the chance to go one-on-one with you yet.”

Despite the claw threatening to crush his neck, Megatron laughed. “You're not a match... you've never been a match. Your supposed 'victories' have all been my doing.”

“What are you talking about, old man,” Whirl hissed, tightening his claw enough that serious warnings appeared in Megatron's status reports.

“Your survival was all my doing. That was me. That was my influence. After declaring war, my second order? 'Let him live' I told my troops.”

Whirl puzzled but came up without answers. “What? That doesn't make any sense?”

Megatron managed to get one foot against the console behind him and the other foot atop Whirl's cockpit, levering him back. “You pride yourself on being a fighter, but you've never been in a fair fight. The odds have always been stacked in your favor, because everyone knew that if they killed you, they would have to answer to me.”

The rotary was astounded. “Why would you do that?” And then he was insulted. “How dare you do that!”

Megatron fixed Whirl with a calm stare. “You made me. You taught me that words were weightless without some force behind them. And for a long time I was grateful for that. Even when others tried to 'save me', I always returned to you and what you did to me in that cell.”

Whirl's memories flashed back to that fateful night, when he'd been sent in by the Senate to deal with the thorn in their side. The energon miner had been arrested while cowering beneath a table in Maccadam's; fate had delivered him into the clutches of the powers that were. Whirl knew the detainee was innocent, but he'd gone in anyway. In the aftermath, rage, hate, and violence had consumed Megatron, setting the miner-poet on a course toward millions of years of destruction and bringing the Cybertronian race to the edge of extinction. Still greater numbers had been caught up in the fury of his unleashed force.

A thousand pieces of the puzzle suddenly fell into place. A deep cold washed over Whirl's spark as the terrible knowledge of what had happened all came together. No, he hadn't been the only one to ignite the fire that would burn their world to the ground, but according to Megatron he himself had tossed one of the biggest torches into the tinderbox.

No. This couldn't be. The war wasn't his fault! He'd just been doing his job, right? He'd just been doing what the Senate had told him to.

“Shut up!” Whirl screamed at Megatron before his fury could turn in on himself. He clamped his right claw shut and in a dreadful rage he punched the former emperor in the midsection, his arm sinking into him, all the way to the shoulder joint.

But even before he found himself that far in, he realized something was very wrong. He knew what it felt like to send a pincer through a body, and this didn't feel at all like that. There was too little resistance. Too little noise. “What the hell?” Whirl pulled back, finding that naught remained of the limb that had punctured his opponent. “Where's my frikkin' arm?” he gasped at Megatron, falling away to land on his aft on the floor of the fuel furnace.

Megatron, strangely calm, answered with equal calm. “A very long way away.”

Whirl's optic flared in confusion and disbelief. He should have pulled back a limb dripping with all manner of a mech's fluids—a limb scratched and gouged by the firmer components within. Instead, there was nothing. It was as if Megatron had somehow devoured or dissolved it.

“Thanks to Shockwave's ministrations, my innards are a knot of pan-dimensional pinpricks, transit tunnels, and dead portals.”

Whirl stared at his shoulder and down at where his arm had been just moments ago.

“I'm happy to pretend this never happened if you leave Tailgate and Watch alone,” Megatron continued. He looked down briefly at the hole Whirl had punched into his waist section. It wasn't the first time the cryptic mess inside of him had saved his life. Chances were it wouldn't be the last either. He sent a comm' to Velocity to let her know he was on his way for some 'cosmetic repairs.' She'd of course think otherwise once she saw them.

The Pyrobots eyed him angrily as he passed, and when one of them moved to intercept him, he raised his arm dismissively. Now was not the time.

Whirl staggered back to his feet, mournful and defeated.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	33. Nickel Moves On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aboard the Weak Misanthropic Principle, Krok finds himself the object of Nickel's sudden affections.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Krok wasn't too surprised to find Nickel and Grimlock in their berths in the barracks. Nickel of course been working quite hard of late going through the haul of medical supplies and equipment they'd pulled off of the Glorious Second Resolution, deciding what should be kept and what should be sold and what should be thrown out. Krok had not missed what a diligent and devoted worker she was, despite not having any sort of schedule or deadlines. To get her to relax, and socialize, a bit they'd tried to entice her to join them in a game a rollback. Crankcase had set up the board as they had their evening fuel. But she'd retired immediately after fueling and headed for the barracks. The others were still playing, and Krok had only left because he'd lost yet again and had no more petty cash to gamble with.

Grimlock of course was deep in recharge. 

Approaching his berth, he noticed that Nickel was still awake and reading from a datapad. But as he climbed into the berth, she shut it off and set it aside. “You don't have to stop,” he said, making himself comfortable.

“I've read enough for tonight,” she replied.

Krok kissed her goodnight on the side of her helm as he always did as they tucked down. “Goodnight Nickel. Sleep well,” he wished her.

To his surprise, once he'd gotten comfortable and snuggled in against her, she kissed him back before nuzzling her face into his neck. Even more to his surprise, she kissed at the cabling of his neck, her big blue optics shuttering.

She had been in a much better mood since they'd found all the medical stuff aboard the Glorious Second Resolution, but this was more than expected. “You're affectionate tonight,” he whispered. Not that he minded. The kisses continued, accompanied by the gentle stroking of her hands against his chest. That was when he realized her frame was heating.

And then her mouth closed around a sensor node and she prodded it sensuously with her glossa.

“Um, Nickel?” Krok pulled away, propping himself up on one elbow, and stared down at her. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I... I need to feel close, to feel loved.” Her optics dimmed and her smile dipped to a flat line. “If you don't want to though...”

“No, I'd... I'd love to.” Okay, she did know what she was doing. That had confirmed it. “But this just seems a bit sudden and out of the blue...”

She sighed. “You've always told me to mourn as long as I need to. But I can't mourn forever. I have to get over it, over what happened. I think that time has come, and that this would be a good place to start. I had a lot of friends on Prion, and... we did a lot of berth-hopping together.”

Sudden? Yes. Unwelcome? No. He'd been quite content with the nightly snuggle, but he wouldn't object to something more.

Krok smiled and caught up one of her hands, and kissed it fondly. Hands that were so small and quick. “I think I can make you feel very loved.”

With a joyful chirp she reached for him, fingers wrapping around the edge of a chest plate, and pulled on it to draw him down again.

“Not here though...” he whispered.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Crankcase suddenly straightened from where he was counting his credit chips, having just had a stroke of luck and claiming a decent pot.

“Cranky?” Fulcrum asked, knowing something had grabbed his attention.

Without even telling Fulcrum not to call him that, Crankcase rose and darted over to the console, quickly bringing up the security details. “The motion alarms went off for this sector,” he explained. And then he stared open-mouthed at the screen. “Oh dear Primus...”

“Hmmm? What is it?” The other three looked over to where Crankcase continued to work with the security monitors.

While they were looking over Misfire deftly slid two of his gamepieces to different squares.

“Krok and Nickel just went into the Blue Room together.” The video feed now rolling on the monitor confirmed it.

“No way!” Fulcrum gasped.

“Really?” Spinister asked.

“'Bout time,” Misfire concluded.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	34. Interfacing and its Causes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl orders Megatron to find a sire and kindle again. Nickel asks Krok for something more.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The video-conference was not exactly off to a good start. After the round of roll call and greetings, Prowl immediately began glaring at Megatron.

Megatron glared back.

And then Prowl lifted a datapad from the desk and read from it. “I have your latest progress report, Megatron. According to Ratchet's latest update, Optimus' sparkling has been weaned.” He looked about. “Is the sparkling here?”

Megatron called over to Tailgate, who had been sitting nearby with both bitlets should someone want a visual. “Bring Synthesis.”

Tailgate, a bit nervous at being part of such an important meeting, hurried the toddler over from the bench at the side of the room. He'd even bathed and given each of them a first polishing. Megatron lifted the sparkling from his nanny's arms and set Synthesis onto the conference table in front of him.

Synthesis looked about the others at the table, wondering what was going on. And on seeing Drift present, he pulled the toy sword from his hip and waved it at the white mech. Brainstorm and Nautica had constructed it for him from heavy foam and plastic, giving it a magnetic attachment so he'd be less likely to leave it lying somewhere.

Drift gave a happy wave back.

Rodimus groaned.

Someone behind Prowl giggled.

Optimus Prime, sitting in on the conference as well, gave a gasp of surprise. “He's gotten so big!”

“He's in his primary growth-spurt,” Ratchet explained to Optimus. Ratchet didn't really want to be here—Megatron and his children had become Velocity's responsibility ages ago—but as she was unknown to any of the other parties involved, Ratchet had been summoned to this meeting.

“Is that a sword?” Prowl asked, noting the object in Synthesis' hands. Of course it was a sword, but of course he had to ask.

“It's a toy one. He wanted one, having seen Cyclonus and Drift with theirs,” Megatron explained.

Prowl gave a hiccup of amusement, but then quickly stifled himself as if embarrassed. “As you all know, the reason for this call is simply a reminder that Megatron, with the weaning of Optimus' child, you will be expected to kindle again.”

“I understand,” said Megatron, the heaviness in his voice obvious.

Starscream gleefully spoke up. “You have one deca-cycle to find a sire and kindle. Otherwise Prowl will be forced to alter your sentence.”

“One deca-cycle?” Rodimus asked.

“That's a bit steep given what I expect my sentence would be altered to,” Megatron growled. “I am going to insist on three deca-cycles.”

Prowl matched his stare. “I will give you one deca-cycle. Additional time may be awarded provided either Ratchet or Ultra Magnus can offer either proof of your effort or a medical consideration.”

“You are most kind, Prowl,” Megatron sneered.

Optimus, managing to look away from his son for a moment, added his voice. “Three deca-cycles will be granted.”

The others all looked at the great Autobot, some with looks of relief on their faceplates. Some with surprise.

“You are most merciful, Optimus Prime,” Megatron said with a nod of his helm.

-o-o-o-o-o-

A cycle and an a half later, Nickel was definitely feeling well loved. She lay against the pillow, her frame aglow and her state one of happiness and contentment thanks to Krok's diligent attention to her frame. The Scavenger's leader been a much better lover than expected, having quickly brought her to overload, then worked her into a second, and then unexpectedly wringing a third out of her tiny frame.

She stared at the chandelier hanging above the berth, hanging from a ceiling painted deep blue and spangled with golden stars. Looking around now, no longer distracted by emotional and carnal needs, she noticed that almost everything about the room was some shade of blue or gold, and very plush. Rugs. Curtains. Lamps. Pillows. Quilts. Decorative accents. Souvenir trinkets. It all seemed the very opposite of the group she'd taken up with.

“Feeling better?” the captain asked. He had finished wiping the mix of fluids from her array and was now cleaning off his face and hand. To her surprise he'd removed the bracing structure around the front of his head and then taken off his mask. A telltale line of dust and a change in the color between the plating around his optics and that which was freshly exposed revealed that it had not been off for quite some time. 

A contented hum was her only response.

Krok smiled and leaned down long enough to kiss her. “Good. I'm here if you need. And I'm sure any of the others would be willing to help as well. Though trust me, Misfire's not exactly the best choice aboard.”

She suddenly sat up, her tiny hands grasping his chest. Beneath the stationary mask he wasn't handsome; but he wasn't ugly either. Average was the best term to use. “Krok, let me return the favor. Let me spike you. Or ride you. Whatever you prefer. I like both.” Her voice was breathy and excited.

Krok gave her another kiss and lay her back down. “Nickel, you don't have to. Just consider that as me taking care of my crew.”

“I mean it,” she assured him. “Let's go further so you can enjoy it too.”

Krok laughed awkwardly. “I did enjoy it, Nickel.”

“Then let me overload you at least once. However you want.” Her hands clutched desperately at him.

The captain turned away. “I... Well... how do I explain this...”

“Don't you want me to touch you?”

He laughed awkwardly again. “I want you to touch me very, very much. It's just that... um... if you do...”

“Are you in need of repairs?” she asked quickly. “If your array isn't working, I'd be happy to fix it for you. It's not like I'd tell the others.” Her hands went for the tool compartment in her chest and waited there.

More awkward laughter. “No no. Everything's in working order down there. It's just that... I don't think it would be a good idea to, because, eh...”

“Krok?”

“I'm not a good lover. I mean, I'm a good lover, but I'm not good at distancing myself afterward.” He sighed for the words that refused to manifest. “I mean, if you get involved with my array, well it's always seemed to be connected to my spark if that makes any sense.” He looked at her with mournful red optics. “If you did that, I'd probably fall in love with you and that probably wouldn't be a good idea. I mean it's been hard enough already to keep myself on a platonic basis with you, but if we went all the way... well to me that means there's a commitment and that we're exclusive,” he blurted and then turned away, looking down at the broken communicator in his hand. He'd hardly put it down to take care of her before picking it up again. “I have a hard time letting go of things.”

“Krok?”

“I know... I'm a miserable sap.” He bowed his head. “Yeah. Best if I keep some distance. Getting attached isn't always a good thing for a Decepticon, and I'm not sure you're ready for any sort of attachment either, what with your world and everything. Maybe you had a busy and interesting sex life back on Prion... but... it's not me.”

“Interfacing means that much to you?”

“Yeah. Hey, look, why don't I get Fulcrum in here? Or Crankcase? I know they don't have such hang-ups and would be more than happy to do whatever for you. Heck, Spinister, for all his faults is apparently pretty good in the berth from what Fulcrum says. ”

Nickel clambered to her feet and stood with her arms around the captain's shoulders. She stared into his optics and at his faceplate, absorbing his presence for a long time. “Krok, I don't want them,” she said eventually. “I want you. You've been so kind to me. And maybe a nice solid commitment might be a good thing for me. Not a sparkbond or the conjunx ritus or anything formal. Just a commitment to be a couple.”

“Nickel, I don't expect you to change for me.”

“I could though. I could be yours exclusively if that's what you want. You and I do seem to work well together, and we obviously like each other's company.”

Krok paused. “True, we do get along very well.”

“And...you're the second-most mentally stable of this batch.”

Had she really just said that? “Second-most mentally stable? That's an interesting pick-up line.” He wasn't about to ask which of them was first on the list by her reckoning. Or last, though he'd bet upon Spinister.

She smiled unapologetically and then pressed her lips to his. “Be mine Krok?”

“You're really serious about a commitment to me?”

“I'll be yours, if you want me as much as I want you. I've seen enough of you and your crew to know what I'm in for.”

He looked her in the optics, intense red meeting wide, soft blue. “You really do mean it?” he asked, amazed that this was actually happening. It all seemed too good to be true. But then if she wanted to move past the horror that had befallen her people, something else to focus on—such as a steady, committed relationship—might go a long way toward that happening.

And maybe he needed to move on as well.

And if it was too good to be true, well, perhaps the journey up until the point he found out they weren't meant to be would be completely worth the broken spark in the end. 

Krok placed his hand over his chest and shuttered his optics. “Nickel, I would be honored to take you as my lover and companion and counsel.”

The minicon flung herself at him so hard he was knocked backwards onto the plush berth and pinned down by her delighted kisses and wriggling frame.

Krok smiled so hard he wondered if his joy might remote-detonate Crankcase.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	35. No Turning Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In scene one, based upon one of my favorite dance tunes, Firejump seduces Rung. In scene two, based on MTMTE #39 "Perestroika," Deathsaurus' rendezvous with Tarn goes from violence to allegiance. This chapter definitely makes the top ten of chapters in this fic.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rung found himself at Casual Night for a third time, again as Turbine's date. They'd first gone for a poetry reading in Thunderclash's quarters, after which they'd headed to Swerve's for the customary drinking before the real party. There in the dance studio, after the tray of refreshments had been set up, Turbine pushed them aside so he could sit right next to Rung, which he did.

Skids and Nautica were conspicuously absent, though everyone knew where they were. They'd given their sparks to each other in privacy and later announced their new status in public. Rodimus had sent them out on a honeymoon aboard the Rodpod—as both a wedding gift and an opportunity to test the Rodpod's newly installed quantum engine.

Their marriage had been the biggest news of the deca-cycle, and the Lost Light Insider spat out an issue ahead of schedule. The contents were mostly pictures of the happy couple, followed by a list of “the twenty best available catches for a conjunx” aboard the Lost Light for those wanting to join the ranks of the married. Rung wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed when he found he wasn't on the list.

Turbine had been reading through it at Swerve's, and he too noted that Rung had failed to appear. “Good. I've got enough competition from Doubletap. I don't need anyone else courting you.”

Rung felt a bit embarrassed. Courting? The blue jet-former had decided this was courting? True, they had held hands during some of the poetry reading. While drinking, Turbine had sat on the same side of the booth instead of opposite him. Right now, he even seemed to be a bit “snuggly,” pressing various bits of himself against Rung. Rung even felt Turbine's field arch defensively when Doubletap appeared and decided to sit with them after the introductory dances.

Then Firejump came over, squeezed in from behind the three, and offered lessons again. “There's a free slot at the end of first shift. Come then. We'll go through some of the basics. Maybe more depending on how you move.” With a wink of his optics he rose and sauntered over to where three other Pyrobots were gathered, passing a cube of high-grade amongst themselves.

Rung felt a warmth spread through his systems. The mech's words had been plain, but the suggestive press in his field and the purr of his voice gave them something of a seductive bent. And as much as he didn't really want to take dance lessons, Rung knew he'd be there. Why did Firejump have to be so sexy? Though admittedly most Camiens were when they wanted to turn on the charm.

When the piece of music Cyclonus was performing to ended, the mech bowed and went back to his couch as the opening chords to the next song began. Doubletap's head suddenly jerked up. He'd been reclining next to Rung, his fingertips idly brushing against Rung's arm. Now he was looking about the room, as were a number of the other attendees. With a few more notes of music that sounded as if they'd been recorded and played backwards, followed by the wordless drone of a male voice, Firejump strolled confidently onto the floor. The tank-former sat up fully with a gasp of “Oh Primus...”

“Hmm?” questioned Rung.

Firejump had taken the floor and was going through a few stretching gestures as the song's introduction played on.

“This song...” Doubletap breathed. “He's going to dance...”

Rung cocked his head questioningly. Wasn't that a given at this point?

“Dee?” Turbine asked.

“Manually start your cooling fans now,” Doubletap told them, his voice low and breathy.

Rung looked back at the dark red mech as he started to dance as the music began in earnest, the song one of exotic alien vocals, a slow sensual beat, and languid instrumentation. And Firejump was absolutely amazing to watch as he danced to it. Fluid and undulating. Graceful and aloof. Rung had never known a mech could move that way. When he was finally able to tear his optics away to grab his drink, he noticed the rest of Casual Night's attendees were likewise enthralled.

And when the song grew quiet for a few moments, Firejump sauntered over and leaned toward Rung's audial. “This is for you,” he whispered.

Then he strolled back to the center of the dance floor and continued to pleasure his audience visually.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Deathsaurus met Tarn in the largest of the landing bays aboard his warworld—this one large enough for the Peaceful Tyranny to land and park alongside several of the other ships of the fleet. Blue Bacchus had tried to stall the meeting to give everyone a little more time to prepare should things suddenly head south, but Deathsaurus had assured him this was not necessary. The crew had been training daily to take on the DJD. The plan was that Deathsaurus would engage Tarn and take him down in a one-on-one fight. Once their commander had succeeded, the rest of the DJD would be sent packing without further conflict unless they decided not to go peacefully. Quite a few contingency plans were ready as well should the original plan not work.

Despite preparations, what they'd not planned on was Tarn's hijacking of inter-Decepticon radio, and as Deathsaurus was gaining the upper hand in the fight, Tarn spoke to the entirety of the rebel's force. ::Now is everyone listening, or do I have to lower my voice?:: As the dark mech gloated everyone tuned in clenched their helms and aerials as a flare of pain raced through them.

::What is it you wanted to say, Tarn?:: Deathsaurus asked. How could they not have expected this to happen?

::I'll start with a question, Deathsaurus. When did you become a Decepticon?:: 

A stupid question. He'd have to answer it though. ::I was built as a Decepticon.::

::You weren't there at the beginning. You weren't there to watch the Decepticons grow from an idea into an army.:: Tarn loomed in the corridor, recovering himself from the blows received in the fight. Physically Deathsaurus was a match for him, but he had no defense against the Voice. ::Victory after victory, Deathsaurus. That's what it was back then. Victory after victory. Megatron was magnificent. Overthrowing the Senate. Emancipating the manual classes... Nothing was beyond him.::

The pain lessened as Tarn's spark swelled, joyed by such glorious thoughts of the Emperor in his most glorious days. Deathsaurus could feel the emotions pouring out of Tarn.

::True, Prime's Autobots proved something of an impediment, but by and large he achieved his aims. And only then did he allow himself to look upwards, to consider his place—our place—in the wider universe. He realized that the prejudice and injustice he'd rallied against on Cybertron was prevalent elsewhere—everywhere in fact. The universe was actively and implacably anti-mechanical. That's when and where the greater campaign began. The campaign against the rest of the galaxy.::

Deathsaurus began to rise to his feet once again, the pain having subsided. Outside of the corridor the rest of his forces shuffled, ready to act. But now was not the time. Perhaps Tarn had not been lying and that his Decepticon business was just that. And he needed to find out. ::I thought you played your victims music, Tarn. Not gave them history lessons—unnecessary ones at that,:: he probed. ::Where's all this going?::

Tarn obliged. ::Somewhere along the way, I allowed myself to think that Megatron was bigger than the Decepticon cause. When I learned that he'd defected, I was ready to give up. And I nearly did. It took a slap from one of my own teammates, one that toppled me from my prideful pedestal, for me to realize that Megatron's defection was simply part of some greater plan of his.::

::What greater plan?::

::I don't know. But I do know that my Megatron—our Megatron—is still with us.:: The fire within Tarn burned brighter. ::You all saw his trial, his humiliation, the surrender and concessions he was forced to make. He was forced to give that speech. I am ashamed that at first I did not realize he had been given a script to read. Soundwave assures me that he'd been given a script.::

Deathsaurus was unsure::But the punishment? He accepted Starscream's terms. He bowed to Optimus and allowed the Prime to violate him.::

Tarn drew himself up. ::Megatron only appears to have lost hope and forgotten the vision. He's been lulling the Autobots into a false sense of security in order to survive.::

::So then what is your plan?:: Deathsaurus asked. Somehow now it didn't seem like the DJD was about to off them all. ::Why have you come to me?::

::I have come to you and your forces for one thing alone. I intend to rescue Megatron and restore him to glory. I intend to bring about the Second Empire.::

A wave of murmurs and gasps rang through every hall.

::But I cannot do it alone. Yes, there are plenty of remaining Decepticons out there, but you alone have succeeded in maintaining a contingent of any size. And as I understand, Deathsaurus, your army has been growing steadily as the last and the lost have wandered into your fold. I need an army to reclaim our emperor and to convince him that he's not alone in his cause, that he has the backing of loyal troops.::

::There was an attempt to rescue him at his trial, one that he refused to accept, and so failed.:: Blue Bacchus sneered over the comm's, the first to dare to join the conversation.

::And unfortunate incident, one that resulted in the loss of many of his loyal followers. But again, part of his greater plan. Our Lord was resting. But now is no longer the time to rest, but the time to act.:: Tarn put his hands on Deathsaurus' broad chest. ::Join us. Join us and I'll take you off the List. All is forgiven.::

The beastformer was quick to respond. ::I want my troops cleared as well. Everyone's slate wiped clean. And not just myself and them. I want the whole List wiped clean and assurance that it never be instated again. We should not have to live in fear of our own.::

Tarn flinched. The List had been what Megatron had chosen him for. But everything was changing. In this Second Empire, there would be a new role for him to fill. The List could wait. ::All right. The List is gone. Empty and gone. You have my word.::

From outside of the corridor, a loud cheer arose as a long-running worry lifted from the sparks of almost all present. As Megatron had freed the working class, Deathsaurus had freed his mechs from the nagging threat of Tarn's painful justice.

Deathsaurus smiled. Tarn might be a cruel sadist with his own twisted agenda, but he was always good to his word. This day was turning out far better than anyone had expected. ::In that case I have one further condition. But first I need you to disengage from the network, Tarn.::

Tarn did so, and Deathsaurus leaned in closely, a secret about to be divulged. 

“Well? What's this condition?” Tarn asked.

“Kill your team,” the beastformer whispered sinsterly. “You murdered dozens of my troops. Seeing the rest of your 'justice division' die by your hand would go some ways towards making amends.”

Tarn flinched again. The renegade had actually dared to ask him that? But the answer came surprisingly easily. “No. I... No. The answer's no.”

Deathsaurus pulled back with a gleeful snort. “Then we have a deal,” he proclaimed.

“But...?” Tarn was indeed puzzled.

“I needed to get the measure of you, Tarn. I could never throw my weight behind a leader who treated his foot-soldiers as fodder. That's why Megatron and I parted company. And I expect that when the time comes, you will back me in protecting our underlings from unnecessary casualties.”

“Of course,” Tarn ceded.

Deathsaurus clapped the dark mech on the shoulder and nudged him toward the end of the corridor, moving back toward the hangar. “Release Tarn's team,” he ordered his subordinates, waiting at the end. “We're all together in this now.” Immediately the other four members of the DJD found the bars of their cage dropped. And then he looked at his masked ally. “So now what? Rescue Megatron I presume? If the new ending of 'Towards Peace' is to believed, he's somehow allied himself with a shipful of Autobots that I believe you claimed to have eliminated.” There was an implication of failure in the statement.

“We did destroy them, and Overlord with them. Of how they managed to continue living after what we did to them I am most perplexed.”

“Overlord, you say?” Deathsaurus asked. “Sometimes I've wondered whether to consider him a friend or an enemy. I suppose it's a moot point now.”

“So before we do anything else, we're going to find the Lost Light and retrieve Megatron and his offspring—and we're going to kill those Autobots—properly this time.” They reached the hangar and found it full of gleeful Decepticons and a very relieved-looking DJD. Tarn grasped Deathsaurus' hand and together they lifted them amidst further cheers. And once more he spoke to all listening, raising his voice above the din. “Fellow Decepticons, the Autobots have taken from us that which Megatron won, and they have taken Megatron himself. I am here to reverse that. First we take back Megatron. Then we take back our war. And then we take our place as masters of Cybertron. After that... Masters of the Galaxy. So gather your weapons and ready yourselves and let the battle begin.”

“Battle?” Deathsaurus questioned with a smirk. “This is more than a battle.”

Tarn chuckled. The redeemed commander understood perfectly. “Indeed. We're going to war.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	36. Dialogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scene One: Mostly gratuitous fun as the denizens of Swerve's go over the list of 'eligible bachelors' aboard the Lost Light.  
> Scene Two: Slightly gratuitous fun as as Megatron courts Ratchet, who send him off in the direction of some other mech.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The contents of the early issue of the Lost Light Insider were causing a stir. Everyone was ooh'ing and ahh'ing over the pictures Skids and Nautica had provided of their little honeymoon; they really were such a beautiful couple. The still unknown publisher of the Insider posed the question of if they could turn out sparklings cuter than Synthesis and Watch. Ten had even provided an artist's rendition of their possible offspring along with drawings of Megatron's two children.

Possibly as a thank you or possibly as payment to Ten for his work, the legislator had been put at the top of the “twenty best available catches for a conjunx” list that followed. “Ten!” was the golden mech's enthusiastic statement as he held the article up to Swerve.

Unsurprisingly the three unattached Pyrobots were also on that list, as was Velocity, as was Hound. 

Surprisingly Swerve had made the list, coming in at number nineteen.

“I'm not sure about this...” the bartender huffed. “Listen to what they wrote about me... 'Swerve? We don't have to say anything about Swerve because he says plenty already. There's a lot of him in a small package. And as the proprietor of a well-stocked bar, there's plenty of free engex for his conjunx to drown any regrets in.' Really? That's what they think about me after all the pictures and hot tips I've sent them?”

Bluestreak, coming in seventh himself, patted Swerve consolingly on the shoulder. “Hey, at least you made it onto the list.”

Swerve snorted. “Like I'm going to trust any list that considers Ten a good catch for a mate.”

“Well all know it's a scandal sheet,” Bluestreak placated, “even though the author or authors seem to have a high opinion of me.”

“And hey, they only put Cyclonus on it because he's got enough shanix to buy half a planet,” Mainframe supplied. He took the datapad and read aloud. “Listen to this. 'It's a proven fact that money can buy happiness (those that say otherwise are trying to justify not having any themselves), so if you can ignore the brooding silence, the permanent scowl, and the body count, you could be the happiest mech aboard.'”

“And besides,” continued Bluestreak, “it's a list of mechs you'd want to conjunx with. Not a list of mechs to avoid matrimonially.”

“Yeah, there is that,” Trailcutter agreed. “I think Ultra Magnus would head that list.”

“Not Whirl?” Riptide pondered.

“Ooh, close call, along with Megatron too, though I'm not sure if he's actually available with the whole Tailgate thing. Tailgate says they're not a thing, but sometimes I wonder.”

“Siren would be on that list too.”

Mainframe spoke up. “Hey, Siren's actually a decent guy... well, would be if we could permanently cripple his vocalizer. Same with Swerve.”

Swerve, already a bit touchy, took offense. “All right Mainframe. You're done drinking for today. Ten, would you please escort Mainframe to the door.”

The big mech obeyed despite Mainframe's protests and attempts to apologize.

“Nope. Come back tomorrow,” Swerve frowned at him.

Riptide sighed. “I didn't make the list.”

“Most of us didn't,” Bluestreak said, ever the consoler. His optics flicked over to Ten at the door, now seeing to a couple of newly arrived patrons. And then he leaned in conspiratorially. “You know, it's odd that the top of the list of the best is best friends with the possible top of the list of the worst.”

“That is kinda funny,” said Trailcutter.

“More like 'only friend',” Swerve snickered.

“Surely Ten's not Ultra Magnus' only friend. Command staff likes him, right?”

“Likes... tolerates... Not sure.”

Ten returned and glared at Swerve. “Ten,” he said, the disappointment clear in his tone of voice.

“Mainframe's welcome back tomorrow,” defended Swerve.

Ten crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.

-o-o-o-o-o-

::Ratchet? May I speak with you privately?:: came the comm' from Megatron about a cycle before second shift began.

::I'm down at Swerve's and halfway into my first drink. So if you want to talk it's going to be down here.:: To be honest, he'd gone to Swerve's in hopes of avoiding this nearly inevitable conversation. And if Megatron pushed, he'd at least have a drink in hand to console himself with.

A breem later, Megatron was approaching his table and taking the seat next to him. Surprisingly neither of his sparklings were with him.

“I know what you're going to ask, so don't bother. You've got better choices out there than myself. Besides, one ex-'Con in my berth is already more than I can handle.”

Megatron cocked an optic ridge. “Brainstorm?” The scientist's former loyalties had been revealed in the incident with the other Lost Light.

“Drift,” the CMO corrected.

“But I thought he and Rodimus...” There was no reason to complete the sentence.

“Drift needs... a lot of attention. I'm just going to leave it at that.”

“Whatever works for you I suppose.” For a moment he entertained the thought of siphoning off a bit of Ratchet's burden. If there really was that much of Drift to go around he could use a little. “Are you certain I couldn't ask this of you though?”

“You really do have better choices out there than myself. And besides, I honestly don't think this old frame's up to parenting.”

“I'm not in a position to consider choices. I'm only interested in options. I'm sure you know how popular I am aboard this ship.”

Ratchet sighed in exasperation. “Here...” The CMO handed Megatron a data slug.

“And this is...?”

“A bit of information on your best bet. An introduction, if you will.”

Megatron looked doubtfully at the slug in his hand. “Someone who'd trust me enough to spark-merge with me? And I'd want the transfluid as well. Tailgate can only give so much, we've found.” 

Ratchet turned his head to the big silver mech. “If you say the right things, he's yours.”

“Isn't that how all relationships begin?”

Ratchet laughed sardonically. “Three things, Megatron.” He made a fist but flicked up the first finger. “Tell him you're wanting to right the wrongs.” He flicked up the second finger. “Tell him you can give him an heir.” Predictably a third finger flicked up. “And most importantly, tell him that you'll go back to Whirl if he says no. He knows about your little fight down in the fuel furnace. We all know.”

“Is this who I think it is?” Megatron asked, holding up the data slug, his optics narrowing.

“Possibly. You two have more in common than you realize. And it's probably about time you realize.”

“Which leads me to my next question. Why are you doing this? Somehow I can't imagine it's out of the kindness of your spark.”

Ratchet's hands closed around his glass and he stared into it. “Prowl has been sending me a message every day asking if you're carrying yet. And I know that he won't stop pestering me until you are.”

Megatron smirked. “It's a good thing I respect you, in that case.” He rose to leave. “I'll let you know if I'm successful.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	37. Unconventional Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Firejump proves to be more than just a fuel stoker and a dance teacher. Elsewhere aboard the Lost Light Megaton courts the mech he hopes to fill the role of the next sire.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rung apologized for the umpteenth time as Firejump moved his limbs into position for the umpteenth time. “I'm sorry. I'm just not programmed for dancing.”

Firejump smiled as he gently bent his newest student's arm to the proper angle. “Programming is one thing. Learning is another. Skids is the only student I have that doesn't require repeated correction.”

“We can't all be Skids though.”

“Nope. Now try again. Right foot first.”

Rung tried and did a bit better than the previous attempt.

“You're very tense. Relax a little.”

“It's hard to relax when I'm trying to get it right,” Rung replied.

Another correction. Another restart.

“Smoothly... move as if your struts are just a little under-pressurized,” Firejump advised.

Rung tried again to relax.

“You're getting the forms, but you're moving like your struts are set ten levels too high. Relax. Vent deeply. Think 'flowing'.”

Rung sighed. Okay, he'd not expected to walk out of his first lesson performing like they did in the holovids. But he was hoping to be doing a little better at this point. Firejump had decided to begin by teaching him the three hundred and eighty-seven initial movements of the Arolexian Folk Ballet, a dance form from Caminus that was sure to make an excellent base to draw upon as a new dancer. So far tonight he'd learned twenty-six and the meaning of each. But when Firejump had him begin to string those twenty-six movements together, the result was disappointing.

“I think I know what the problem is.” Firejump led Rung over to a stack of floor mats. “Lie down on your front.”

“Lie down?”

“Let me feel your cabling. I think you're just too wound up to relax.”

“Sir?” 

Firejump chuckled. “Lie down. I'm going to massage your primary musculature.”

Unsure but willing to trust, Rung lay down upon the stack of mats as instructed. 

The Camien dimmed the lights and began to work, starting from his student's ankles and working his way up. By the time his kneading and squeezing reached Rung's mid-torso seams, the orange mech felt not just a little under-pressurized, but almost completely depressurized from that point down.

“No wonder your lessons are so popular, if this is included,” Rung sighed happily.

Firejump gave a hiccup of amusement. “Not everyone needs this much loosening up. When's the last time you had a professional oil-bath?”

“Cybertron... before the first launch.”

Firejump groaned. “You should have gotten one at Sugoi Station. They had these amazing aliens at the place Kindle and I went to. I don't know what they were or where they were from, but those weird hands of theirs knew exactly what to do with a mech's frame.” He sighed fondly at the memory as his own normal hands worked at Rung's upper back, shifting and rolling the plating wherever he could find a flexible spot, and Rung wondered how much more amazing an alien's touch could possibly be than what Firejump was doing right now.

“When's the last time you took someone to your berth?”

Rung's optics, shuttered until now, flicked open. “That's a bit personal, isn't it?”

“Yes, but I'm still asking.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Firejump flinched again, but then continued. “You need someone, don't you? Not just for the sex, but for the companionship as well.”

“Excuse me?” He tried to sit up, but the larger mech held him down.

“You've been here three times to Casual Night with Turbine, and I hear you had a date with Doubletap as well. And of course you were with Fervor on Sugoi Station. But you've obviously not bedded any of them.”

Rung invented sharply. “I don't see how...”

Firejump squeezed hard at the cables in Rung's shoulders, cutting off Rung's protest by eliciting a gasp. “There are a lot of little ways that suggest it,” Firejump smirked, “and a lot of little ways add up to a definite answer. You're a psychiatrist. You know what I'm talking about.”

“But you're... ah... not a psychiatrist.”

Firejump laughed. “I know a lot more than how to samba and how to keep a starship's engine fueled. Want to take a guess what I studied besides dance back on Caminus?”

“Either massage... or... psychology?”

Firejump chuckled at the answer. “Massage is something we Pyrobots did in-between fighting fires back before the war and then while we were on the big ships—kept us calm and grounded. But your other guess is quite correct.”

“You really studied psychology? But you became a dancer.”

“Because... Caminus. Dancers made better money on Caminus than psychiatrists, and no one would be interested in a dancer that understood what everyone else was thinking so I kept it quiet.” His hands moved back down to work on Rung's waist. “But the more I studied both dance and psychology, the more I noticed that the way a person danced revealed so much about them. I'm not talking about the rigid forms or choreographed dances, but when someone is simply given music and allowed to express himself through movement.”

“I suppose that could reveal a few things.”

“When Swerve opens up the dance floor, you'd be amazed at what I see out there,” he said, slender Camien fingers working Rung's lumbar cabling beneath the plates. “I'm sure it's the same for you when you overhear conversations.”

“Well perhaps... but as for me, I don't think...”

Firejump chuckled softly and with a soothing touch coaxed up the next plate to reach a new area of cabling. “We all have our issues, Rung. You and I included. Fervor said that you seemed afraid to get close, that he always felt this stiff wall in your field when he tried to reach out. You acted interested in a relationship but then you wouldn't open up. You kept holding back. And I've been feeling that wall as well every time I've taken you out on the floor to dance at Casual Night.”

So that was it.

“Rung... talk to me about this... Would you let me be your psychiatrist?”

It was Rung's turn to chuckle. “I only came here for dance lessons.”

“Then would you let me be your concerned dance instructor? I assure you both confidentiality and privacy. Besides, I think I'm already halfway to a diagnosis...”

“I'm not sure I could say no when you're stroking my cabling like that.” He heaved a sigh of resignation. “All right. Ask away. Probe my psyche while you're probing my musculature.”

Firejump gave an amused cough. “All right then, Rung. Let's start here. Tell me why do you act like you're interested, say yes to the dates, and then throw up these walls?”

This time Rung's sigh was of disappointment in himself. “I get asked out and I say yes, and I want to have a relationship with someone, but then, I... I guess I start to feel guilty about it.”

“Guilt? Why?” 

“Because... because I have a duty to the crew.”

Firejump shifted and his hands moved to Rung's hip sockets. “I realize that your role here aboard the Lost Light could make things difficult for you.”

“Difficult, yes. I need to be available to them, should they need my care. What if they need me more for therapy than a romantic relationship? But then I don't know why I can't just say no when I get asked out. It's like some addiction I'm trying to feed.”

“Because you're just following Cybertronian instincts. You might have your duty to the crew, but you also need to connect. You've been restraining yourself far too long.”

“You make it sound so simple. I know that I need to connect. And I know that I have been restraining myself.” He drew in a deep ventilation. “But I'll find someone. Maybe not aboard the Lost Light; maybe elsewhere,” Rung said defensively. “When this quest is over, well then I'll see to finding someone to be close with.”

“Maybe. Though you really do have options here. There are over two-hundred of us aboard. Perhaps one of us could be sacrificed.” Firejump's hand slid down to Rung's aft and his thumb dipped between his thighs to brush against the plating over the lower part of his array.

Rung tensed from the back of his neck to the bottoms of his feet. “Firejump? Ah... ?”

“But in the meantime, would you let me remedy this for you? I'm not offering a relationship. Just offering a favor. As a fellow psychologist.”

“But you're...”

Firejump cut him off. “Just a concerned dance instructor.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Megatron knocked on the door of Ultra Magnus' office.

“It's unlocked,” called the voice from inside.

Megatron shifted Watch into a nice position in his arm and entered. Ultra Magnus had displayed a slight interest in and affection for the sparklings.

On seeing the identity of his visitor, Ultra Magnus rose from his seat. “Co-Captain. How may I be of service?”

“Please, at ease. May I sit?”

Ultra Magnus gestured at the chair before his desk. “Of course.”

When Watch gave a squeak of surprise and delight when her carrier sat, the lawman gave her a smile.

This was good, Megatron thought. “You were there for the conference with Prowl and Optimus,” Megatron began. He'd decided to skip the pleasantries and jump immediately to the reason for his visit. “I've come to request your involvement. I need a sire. I need a sire quickly.”

Ultra Magnus did not move, simply staring at Megatron for an awkward half a klik. “You wish me to sire the next sparkling. I thought we'd already gone over this?” he said at last.

“I know you refused me before...”

“I did not refuse. I only stated that if there really was no one else available,” Ultra Magnus interrupted.

"It was a polite way of refusing. And look where your refusal led.” He lifted up the tiny femmeling, holding her between them over the second-in-command's desk. “You know who sired her, and you know who has been nothing but trouble over it.”

“I do seem to recall two separate incidents in the fuel furnace and one in Swerve's tavern. There have been unreported incidents as well, three of which have involved Tailgate.”

Megatron sat Watch down on the desk. And then she stared up at Ultra Magnus with wide yellow optics. Her face formed a smile for him. She'd always had a warm spot for the big mech, as if she knew he'd been present at her entrance into the world.

“One, I think so much trouble could be avoided if you should agree. And two, I think you could certainly do better than Whirl. I might even get a bitlet with ten fingers instead of six.”

Ultra Magnus took one of the femmeling's little hands between his thumb and forefinger, no simple task as just one of which was half her size. “There is nothing wrong with having six fingers. In fact many sparklings, both forged and born, have fewer than ten. And most grow additional ones at a later date as their frames mature.”

“I'd like my next child to have a sire he can be proud of, as Synthesis does.”

“Synthesis was most fortunate.”

“But Optimus is not with us. However, there are some other good choices aboard the Lost Light—though not one has volunteered yet.”

Ultra Magnus huffed. “Have you tried asking?”

“I'm asking one of those good choices right now,” Megatron pleaded with Ultra Magnus. “Please, I'm trying to right all my wrongs through this, but I can't do it alone.”

“Again, only if there really is no-one else. Have you asked Ratchet? Or Perceptor? Rung might be a good option. As might Velocity.”

Megatron had one bullet left. “Would you like to see another Ambus?”

Ultra Magnus suddenly lifted his head, his gaze leaping from Watch to her carrier.

“Lithos Ambus has a nice ring to it. As does Solomus Ambus, or Synchoris Ambus.”

He stared again at the sparkling, who was wobbling to her feet. Once there, she toddled to his hand and wrapped her arms around his thumb. She seemed so tiny and fragile next to his huge frame. “I see you've thought about this,” he said slowly.

“I have.” Megatron knew that while he might not have hit the target, he'd come very close to it. Primus bless that cranky old Autobot medic.

“Let me consider your proposal,” Ultra Magnus answered, pulling away and leaning back into his chair.

“I have less than three deca-cycles, you realize.”

“Understood. I shall have an answer for you within two days.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	38. Consummation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is "Consummation." That's pretty much what's in the box. The Pyrobot and the Psychiatrist. The Co-Captain and the Second-In-Command.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rung lay atop Firejump, his silver and orange spike still encompassed within the Pyrobot's warm red folds of mesh. The shudders of ecstasy from his second overload were finally beginning to lessen.

“So what do you think of Camiens now?” Firejump asked flirtatiously. Before they'd begun Rung had casually mentioned having never been with a Camien.

“I'm considering moving to Caminus once this mission is over if they're all as delightful as you are,” Rung purred into Firejump's chest, following up with a line of kisses at the edge of an armor plate. His head swirled in a beautiful fog of emotional and physical pleasure.

“You are feeling better,” mused the deep red mech.

“Very much so. You were right.”

“I don't have a couch, but a dance floor has proved a wonderful diagnosis tool.”

“Curious as I am, I won't ask what it's revealed about your other students. Though I'll probably be paying attention to more than correct form and motion from now on.”

Firejump sighed amusedly. “Don't try. Just learn and enjoy. That's what the lessons are for. Let go of your work for a while.”

“I can't help myself though. I've been doing it so long.”

“Like you are right now. I don't think a massage and two overloads is going to be enough for you.”

Rung propped himself up on the other mech's chest. “I'm not sure my frame can handle more than two at this point. I mean, I started out thinking...”

Firejump pressed two fingers to Rung's mouth to silence him. “If you can still talk coherently, you're still up for another overload.”

“I'm not sure that... aaah!”

This time Firejump cut him off by suddenly pushing Rung off of him and flipping him onto his back on the berth. “Spike in,” he ordered.

Puzzled, Rung obeyed and closed up the upper part of his array.

“My turn to top,” the Camien said in a sultry tone. With another swift movement, he flipped Rung onto his front, yanked him to the edge of the berth so that the orange mech's legs hung off the edge.

“You're going to spike me?”

“What else?” Firejump moved Rung's legs into a better position.

“But you said you were a valve mech.”

“I did. What I didn't say was that I'm a valve mech only half of the time.”

“You like both?”

Firejump's fingers brushed at the sensitive, slick mesh before him, an alluring dark plum color with orange stripes. “I like both very much.” The gentle brushes deepened into more serious stroking.

Rung was soon whimpering from the stimulation. “I've rarely used my valve for interfacing,” he gasped, the tone almost apologetic. “I've always been a spike mech.”

“You should use both, for balance.”

Balance. Firejump had used that word a lot during the dance lesson. His opening performances at the previous three casual nights had seemed exercises of such set to music.

“Now are you ready for me to balance you out?”

Rung felt the fingers withdraw only to be replaced with something hot and blunt. It moved against the puffed mesh, spreading its own lubricant and aligning itself for penetration. One word and Firejump would take him. Had he been prepared for this? He could still say no. Firejump was a mech of integrity and would go no further if asked. He wasn't some aggressive, charged-up warrior or a drunken, horny mech met at a bar.

And try as he might, Rung could only find 'on principle' to be reason for holding back from what the handsome Camien was offering. 'On principle,' he thought to himself, rolling the phrase through his processor again and again.

'On principle' be damned. It hadn't done anything for him lately.

“Go ahead,” he moaned to the concerned dance-teacher and spread his thighs a little further.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Megatron rose from his chair, carrying Synthesis with him. The mechling had just begun his growth spurt and his size was already increasing noticeably, but he still demanded to nurse occasionally despite all the metal supplements being added to his energon. Given that his sire and his carrier were both larger than average mechs, it was to be expected. His energon intake alone was now close to that of a full-sized mech. 

He came to the door and opened it just as his visitor was raising a hand to knock again.

“Ultra Magnus?”

“I've considered your offer,” said the large mech, suddenly noting the silver convoy suckling at the fuel pouch. “I thought he'd been weaned,” he remarked, pointing at the big bitlet.

“He has, but he's a demanding, hungry thing. Apparently the cubes being made for him aren't enough,” Megatron explained.

“I see.” Magnus composed himself again. “Anyway, as I was saying, I've considered your offer.”

“And you're the sort with enough confidence and propriety to turn down the offer in person,” Megatron continued.

“Megatron, my intent is quite the contrary. May I come in?”

Megatron stepped aside and the second-in-command moved past him. Four steps inside he paused and looked about the habsuite. “Is Tailgate here?” he asked.

“He's off working on a special project. Did you wish to discuss this with him as well?” Megatron moved toward the couch where he sat Synthesis upon the play rug before it. Was this really a yes answer?

“No. It's not necessary.”

“May I offer you anything? I have plenty of energon here.”

“No thank you. I have simply come to tell you I have given your offer much thought...”

Megatron wondered how much thought it could really be. It had only been three and a quarter cycles since he'd visited Ultra Magnus in his office.

“...and I've decided that I would be willing to sire your third-born.”

The couch groaned as Megatron dropped onto it. It was a yes. But would the mech be willing to follow through? “You realize that fluid support would be required as well, do you?”

“If this child is to be an Ambus, I would insist upon it. And you did seem quite certain it would.”

“I'd be honored for one of my offspring to belong to such a noble house.”

“You do seem to be off to a good start with your family. A prime's child. An Ambus. And... the other one.”

Megatron laughed. “I realize you think little of Whirl, but in his own way, he's been an important part of my life.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I'll tell you another time. For the present, tell me when you would like to make the attempt.”

“Now is good.”

“Then now it is.” This was Ultra Magnus. No romance would be involved. Probably not even the seeking of pleasure. Only practicality and duty to a myriad of causes and reasons. “Shall we adjourn to the berthroom? Or do you prefer the couch? Or elsewhere perhaps?”

“Your berthroom will suffice.” He looked to the door across the room. “I do have one stipulation though.”

Megatron pondered. Did the big mech have some strange kink that would need to be addressed in order to overload? There had been rumors to that effect overheard down at Swerve's. “And that would be?”

“That you allow me to do this as Minimus. Ultra Magnus is but a persona. Minimus is the real identity here.”

“I would prefer it that you performed as Minimus Ambus,” Megatron smiled. “I've become quite used to a smaller partner.”

Ultra Magnus nodded. “Not a surprise.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	39. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aboard the Lost Light, five Autobots deal with the results of the previous night. Tailgate's confession is a difficult one.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rung hummed to himself as he made his way to work. When he realized he was humming, he gave a little giggle. The reason was obvious.

The reason was delightful.

And he wanted to feel guilty about having had such relations with a crewmate. But Firejump had gone in knowing full well what thorns waited upon the stem of the rose. How could he feel guilty about someone who understood?

Firejump was indeed a treasure.

Rung found himself at his office door in what seemed half the time of his usual walk there. And going in he stared at the couch. And for the first time in what seemed forever he groaned at it.

He didn't want to be here—anywhere but here. He wanted to be on the observation deck gazing at the beautiful, mysterious depths of space as they slid past. He wanted to be at Swerve's, laughing at lame jokes and others' misfortunes. He wanted to be in Hound's greenhouse staring into the throats of exotic alien orchids. He wanted to be back in a private lesson with Firejump studying forms #27 through #50. He wanted to lie on the bottom of the oil reservoir staring up through the heavy liquid at the other mechs playing there. He wanted to listen to the laughter and tears movie night evoked. Anywhere but here.

But he was in his office now, and despite the sudden lightness and joy in his existence, he had a duty to perform. Sitting down in his chair, he extended his on-board console and looked over his appointments. A nearly-full docket greeted him. That's when he noticed that at some point in the night, Ultra Magnus had penned himself in for a slot. Under the reason, Rung was startled to find the second-in-command had written 'I interfaced with a mech last night, and I think I enjoyed it.' Rung was even more startled to find a spurt of laughter escaping him.

He leaned back into his chair and braced his foot against the cabinets. And then he gave a small kick, spinning his chair and making the office swirl around him. And he laughed in earnest. “It's okay Mags,” he said to the ceiling. “I interfaced with a mech last night as well, and I definitely enjoyed it.”

When the spinning slowed and Rung was able to pull his thoughts away from Firejump's exquisite touch and the way the Camien had pushed him into the berth and taken his valve again and again, Rung looked again at the list.

Whirl wasn't even on it. Actually Whirl hadn't been in his office for several days now.

This was going to be a great day.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Congratulations. There's a newspark in there,” Velocity said happily. “An unusually strong one.”

Tailgate's hand closed tightly around Megatron's. “I'm so glad. I was so worried about what might happen to you...”

“You shouldn't worry so much about me,” Megatron said, trying not to sound as if he were chiding the minibot.

“Want me to make a visual confirmation?” Velocity asked.

“No. I'll trust the equipment.”

“Should I have any concerns about the sire?” she asked next. “I had a hard enough time with Whirl.”

“There won't be any concern,” Megatron answered confidently. Ultra Magnus wouldn't be sneaking into the medibay for a peek at his spawn or harassing Tailgate if he caught the nanny alone. There would not be any arena-worthy fights down in the Fuel Furnace.

“And will the sire be providing fluid support?”

“He will. Every other day to supplement Tailgate's donations.”

Velocity began pulling the scanning equipment away from the mediberth. “Well it sounds like you've got everything under control then. Of course it's your third pregnancy so I expect it's getting fairly routine. As always, get lots of recharge and consume as much energon as you need. If there are any minerals you find yourself craving, be sure to get them.”

“Of course,” Megatron replied. How many times had he heard these instructions now? “May I go then?”

“Yep,” she answered brightly. “Come see me in a few days, or sooner if anything seems off.”

“Of course.”

Tailgate stayed close to Megatron the whole walk back to their habsuite, his hands nervously fiddling together in front of his chest. When they got back to their quarters, and after Tailgate checked on the napping bitlets, he turned to Megatron. “I'm glad you're sparked. I really was worried about you. That you wouldn't find someone who would do it for you and they'd take you back and...” He quickly quashed that line of thought. 

Megatron sat on the couch, and Tailgate brought him a cube of energon. To Tailgate's surprise, he set aside the cube after drinking only half and made a grab for the nanny. Tailgate squeaked as he was picked up and placed onto the silver mech's lap. “Tailgate, I get the feeling that you have something to tell me.”

The minibot looked a bit flustered. “You know that I would spark you myself if I could,” he said eventually.

Megatron smiled at the little thing. “You're a good mech, Tailgate. If only I'd had you at my side aeons ago.”

Tailgate looked up at him. “Would things have been different?”

“Maybe.”

“Would... would you have had sparklings then? I would have looked after them for you back then too.”

“Even though I wasn't an Autobot back then?” Tailgate would know what was implied.

Tailgate found his processors whirring nervously. “I... I think I would have.”

“Really?”

Megatron began stroking the minibot's plating. “You've been very good for my bitlets. You've been good for me.” His fingertips paused beneath Tailgate's chin, and then his thumb nudged at Tailgate's mask.

The mask slid aside. The thumb brushed almost lovingly over Tailgate's sensitive lip components, and the little mech was soon trembling. “Maybe... maybe I could try to sire the next one when you're ready to carry again. There might be a chance I could,” he suggested shyly. “The last time Velocity checked me over, she said that my spark has strengthened a lot. More than she ever expected.”

“That's good news,” Megatron replied. “I'm glad to hear it.” He cocked his head to the side. “Is that what you wanted to share with me?”

Tailgate looked up at the big silver mech, staring back into the intense gaze from above. “I love you, Megatron!” he suddenly blurted. “I want to look after you! I want to be here always for you and your family. 

“Tailgate, you're a fool,” Megatron responded flatly. “You can't love me. No one loves me.” Okay, that was a lie. There were a good number of Decepticons out there still loyal to the cause, and love for the cause was easily translated into love for the founder of that cause. Ravage could be considered an example.

“Well maybe I do. I've just never been in love with anyone before so I don't know for sure if I am or not. But from what I know of love, I think it's what I'm feeling. So, so what? I'm so happy here, and if that's the case then I want to be your fool.” Tailgate stood up and threw his arms around Megatron's neck. “Would you go through the Conjunx Ritus with me?”

This caught Megatron by surprise. Love was one thing. A formal bond, one that implied a romantic union, was however... Megatron returned the imploring gaze with a stern glare. “Do you really even know who I am?”

“I love the bitlets. And... and I know what they've told me about you, and about the war. But I've also seen what you are now. Isn't that what matters? What you are now?”

Megatron sighed. Having a nanny was wonderful. Having someone to pump genuine transfluid into him was so much better than the alternative. But having an emotionally intimate partner?

Tailgate spoke up when Megatron did not. “I was just trying to help you and Synthesis and Watch at first. But now my spark is involved.” A tiny white hand lighted on Megatron's faceplate. “I would do anything for you and your children.”

Megatron could feel the imploring reach of Tailgate's field and the heating of his frame. The minibot was dead serious about this. “I don't think we're quite ready for the Conjunx Ritus yet, but I'll keep that in mind. Someday I might need you to do 'anything' for me.” He pulled Tailgate against his broad chest, cuddling him there. And then he carried him into the berthroom.

Despite the warmth bubbling about his systems and the excitement in the anticipation of a donation, Tailgate felt a shiver run through him. There had been something ominous in the way Megatron had echoed his words.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	40. The One Left Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spinister notices the changes in his leader. Ten won't let Tailgate and Synthesis into their habsuite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forty chapters! And we're only halfway through. Not bad for a fic I was originally thinking was going to come in at about 8-10 chapters. My master draft is currently at approximately 73K words.
> 
> There's a lot of plot ahead in future chapters. Tailgate's plot is about to hit a major development. Megatron's plot will carry on its slow development, though if you've been paying attention to the foreshadowing, you'll know what's coming. On the other hand, Rung's plot is going into a holding pattern for a while. Both he and Nautica will be getting more attention later though after further developments as the pair wander off into rarest of the rare-pair territory. Seriously, you won't see the relationships coming, and they will be beautiful in their monstrosity.
> 
> To my regular readers, thank you for sticking with me. Send me an email (my address is on my profile page) or post a comment now and then. It's very encouraging, and honestly, it does get me to turn out chapters faster! Tell me what you're liking and not liking about this story. Tell me what you'd like to see me tackle in a future story. Tell me which of my other works you've enjoyed.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Krok's so different now,” Spinister said as their leader left, a bit of a bounce in the monoformer's step.

“What makes you say that?” Misfire laughed cynically.

“I asked him earlier about his old squad, and he said he didn't care about them any more. He isn't even carrying that stupid communicator any more. And he seems... happy.”

“He's in love.”

Something of an electronic fritzing noise erupted from Spinister. “In love with Nickel?” His head suddenly whipped around to look suddenly at Misfire. “I thought they were just a frag-buddy thing.”

Crankcase groaned. “Switch on your optics, Spinister. They're nuts and bolts about each other.”

“Spinister, hello? It's more than the fact that they've been popping off to the Blue Room every few nights,” Fulcrum pointed out. “There's a real relationship there.”

The rotary started thinking about it. Yes the captain and their new medic were acting just like a devoted couple. “Well that's nice. I guess we'll have a medic for a long time now. I don't know what he sees in her though. She's so small. And a femme too. Snarky. And she's not quite the surgeon I am.”

Misfire laughed. “Obviously not your type.”

Spinister scowled. “I don't have a type. Every time I thought someone was my type, they went all homicidal or maniacal or just freaked out on me and I had to shoot them.”

Sighs and laughter followed.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate towed the supply cart behind him, having just made a long circuit through the Lost Light's corridors. Synthesis sat inside the cart among the equipment Tailgate had taken with him, repeatedly chirping “Fast Tay-gate! Fast fast!”

“I'm going fast enough, Synth,” Tailgate sighed. While he'd been removed from the duty roster, he found himself busy with more special assignments than expected. When he could, he took a bitlet with him, and hopefully the child would watch and learn a little more every time. Tailgate would talk to them, having read that it was good for them to hear speaking and conversations. This time he'd been sent out through the outer hull around the rear thrusters to vacuum up the crystalline precipitates that sometimes formed in there.

Arriving at the door to Habsuite 034, he was surprised to see Ten standing in the hallway before it.

“Hey Ten,” said Tailgate cheerfully as he unhooked himself and transformed

“Ten!” squealed Synthesis. The silver convoy pulled his toy sword from his back and handed it to the big orange mech. Despite it being made with a plastic handle and a foam blade, Ten always confiscated it when Tailgate brought his charge to Swerve's. But that equal treatment had made the sparkling feel himself and his weapon so much more important.

Ten took the weapon and held it.

“Ten? What are you doing here?”

“Ten,” was the answer.

When Tailgate moved to open the door to the habsuite, Ten intercepted and blocked him. “Ten? Excuse me, but this is where I live.”

“Ten,” he explained.

Repeated tries would not get the big mech to step aside.

Tailgate sent a message to Megatron. “Ten's outside our door for some reason. He won't let me in. Help.”

The response came back. “Ultra Magnus and I are occupied in here. Would you mind returning in a cycle?”

Tailgate sighed disappointedly. Ultra Magnus demanded complete privacy for the donations. And while they were usually in the second-in-command's habsuite for them, for some reason they were here tonight. “C'mon Synthesis. Let's go take the cart back. And we'll go find something for your dinner elsewhere.”

“Dinner? Swervedinner!”

“Yeah, we can go to Swerve's.” The bartender kept a stock of Synthesis' energon on hand for his youngest customer.

Ten handed the sword back, but then looked a touch puzzled. Though he smiled when Synthesis put the sword back into Ten's hand. “Swervedinner!” explained the mechling.

“Ten,” said Ten cheerfully.

Tailgate dropped back into his alt-mode and hooked onto the cart again before towing it away. He knew he couldn't be upset about Ultra Magnus' new role in their lives. And honestly he should have been happy that Ultra Magnus had stepped in. He was there making sure that Megatron was getting what he needed and that the sparkling would form properly. At least they probably weren't having angry, hateful sex, which he was sure had affected poor little Watch.

“Go to Swerve!” Synthesis cried out, apparently aware that they were heading a different direction. The mechling had just recently begun compiling words into sentences.

“I have to return the cart first. They we'll go get some energon and mineral-cakes at Swerve's, all right?”

“Good Swerve.”

“Yes, Swerve is good to us.” And deep inside he was happy that Ultra Magnus was being good to Megatron. But if only he didn't need to.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	41. Heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus Prime pays an unexpected visit to the Lost Light.

-o-o-o-o-o-

No one had known what was coming until Optimus' ship appeared on the Lost Light's monitors. The Prime himself appeared on the viewscreen to greet Ultra Magnus, who had the bridge at the time. Rodimus, Drift, and Megatron were woken from recharge and brought in just in time to meet their auspicious visitor and his entourage in the shuttle bay. Tailgate stood off to the side once more, holding hands with the two sparklings. On seeing Optimus in person, Tailgate could certainly see the sire's strong influence on the mechling.

Synthesis seemed to immediately sense some connection between Optimus and himself. He kept his optics locked on the big mech, watching him closely as he greeted the command of the Lost Light. And when greetings were through, Optimus crouched and beckoned to Tailgate. Trying not to let his amazement and awe show, Tailgate brought the bitlets forward.

Optimus had little interest in Watch, but he held out his hand to Synthesis, who took it apprehensively. “My sire?” the mechling asked.

Optimus nodded. “I am.”

“Sire, not carrier,” Synthesis confirmed with himself.

“May I hold you? It's been a long time since I've held you,” Optimus asked softly.

Synthesis moved forward, and Optimus lifted him with strong arms, admiring his creation. And then he turned to Megatron. “You've done well,” he praised the silver mech.

“Thank you, Sir,” Megatron said in an almost submissive tone of voice. “I must give half of the credit to his nanny though. I could not have taken as good care of him without his help.” He gestured to Tailgate, who sucked in a deep invent as the Autobot leader's optics turned to him. “This is Tailgate, who has been instrumental in the raising of my children,” he continued.

Optimus crouched. “I understand you were the one to choose a name for my son,” he said. “It's a good name. Thank you. And thank you for being here to look after him.”

Tailgate stood frozen on the spot, unbelieving that the immortal Optimus Prime was focusing on him. How had a damaged waste-disposal mech lying forgotten in a cavern beneath the Mitteous Plateau gone from such a miserable status to having the attention and praise of perhaps the two most important Cybertronians out there? “You're welcome, Sir,” Tailgate managed to squeak. It had been hard enough sitting at the side of the video-conference not that long ago, but now he was here in person, proving that he actually existed

And then Optimus stood, looked over his son again, and turned to the others. “I shall not be staying long,” he announced. “It's been a long journey out here to you, and will be a long journey back. But when I go, I shall be taking Synthesis with me.”

Megatron straightened.

Rodimus cocked his head.

Ultra Magnus folded his arms over his chest.

Drift did not move.

Tailgate gave a small cry.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate had sobbed non-stop as he'd packed Synthesis' things into a crate. Synthesis seemed puzzled as to why his nanny was so upset. “Tay-tay, not cry,” he'd said eventually, hugging him tightly. “Syn and Tay-tay go with Sire now.”

When Tailgate explained that the child would be leaving behind his nanny and carrier and half-sister, the child began to cry as well. “Cybertron a long way?” he eventually asked. “Syn come see Tay-tay and have Swervedinner.”

“It is a long way away. Too far to visit.” He sighed. “Cybertron. You were born there, not long before your carrier came aboard the Lost Light.”

“Oh,” the silver and white mechling said thoughtfully.

“I was on Cybertron long ago. I don't remember much of it,” Tailgate replied. When he'd been there most recently he'd been recovering from his cybercrosis and had seen little of it besides what was outside the window. Tailgate then went to roll up Synthesis' mattress and he stowed it into another crate.

When he put the Sugoian soldier doll in with it, Synthesis took it back out and handed it to Tailgate. “New baby is coming? Inside of Carrier, like Syn inside Carrier.”

“Yes...”

“Give him my doll, okay Tay-tay?”

A fresh flood of tears filled Tailgate's optics. “Are you sure? This doll has been your best friend since you chose him on Sugoi Station.” Tailgate remembered the happy trip there with the two bitlets and Cyclonus—the shops, the store clerks, the hotel, the play park, Rewind's frustration, Ravage playing with Synthesis. After the trip Synthesis had carried the toy around with him until the sword replaced it. However, the doll had spent every nap and recharge cycle cradled in his arms since.

“The new baby need a friend.”

“Won't you need a friend still? You'll be a long way from most of your family.”

The child looked at the doll, somewhat dingy and battered with the love it had been given and the sword-strikes it had taken. There was hesitation now regarding his sacrifice.

“Tell you what,” Tailgate said diplomatically through his sorrow. “When the new sparkling emerges, I will get him a toy like this.”

The mechling thought for a moment. “You get?”

“I'll tell Captain Rodimus and your carrier to take the ship back to Sugoi Station and buy a new doll for the new baby.”

Synthesis laughed, apparently pleased with the answer, and Tailgate could not help but hug him tightly. “Syn, I'm going to miss you so much,” Tailgate managed.

“Syn miss you. And Ravage. And Watch.”

“What about Carrier? Did you forget about him? I'm sure you'll miss him too.”

Synthesis took a quick look about the habsuite. “Syn miss Tay-tay more than Carrier,” he whispered. And then he wrapped his arms around Tailgate's neck and hugged him tightly, kissing his helm in love.

And when the crates were packed, Tailgate called for them to be taken down to Optimus's shuttle. And then he gathered up Watch and led the family down after the crates. To everyone's surprise Ravage came with them.

In the hangar, Tailgate kissed Synthesis goodbye for the thousandth time and told him to be good for his sire while command said their farewells. Soon Optimus came over, thanked Tailgate again for his service, and led Synthesis by the hand up into the waiting ship. And as the shuttle lifted and departed, Tailgate sank to the floor, sobbing great tears and soaking the bow on Watch's head. Megatron stood watching the vessel depart, his face blank and unreadable. And then he led his family back to their habsuite, where Tailgate could barely be persuaded to put Watch into her little bed for a nap. He kept holding her tightly as if someone might take her away as well should he let go.

“Tailgate, there will be more sparklings to come,” Megatron said soothingly. His hand drifted over his mid-section. “I'm carrying one right now. And there will be more after that. Prowl promised me. This sentence is far from over.”

“But there will never be another Synthesis,” Tailgate protested.

Megatron shook his head. “No... no there won't.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	42. A Quiet Lull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mainframe and Rung chat while on a shore-leave date. Nautica and Skids return from their honeymoon. Whirl's acting weird.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Mainframe spread the blanket out over the mossy grass and placed the large box of treats upon it. “I hope your tanks are low. I brought a lot of nice things for us.”

“I wouldn't say I'm low, but I'm far from full.”

“Oh good. Hey, thanks for saying yes to a date. They all kept saying how nice this planet was and I didn't want to miss it.” He looked over to where some of the rest of the Lost Light's crew were milling about. “And company's always nice.”

Rung and Mainframe made themselves comfortable on the blanket, and sat for some time, admiring the view. The meadow, high atop a ridge, fell away to forest which stretched down the slopes of the river valley to the river itself some distance away. The temperature was pleasant and the air on the humid side. The sun shone above in a dusty-blue sky dotted with yellow clouds. Nearby they could see Megatron and Tailgate moving quietly away from the shuttle, Megatron's daughter in the minibot's hands. Rodimus and Drift and Ratchet were close to them, lounging on a blanket as well. Cyclonus stood nearby, but then transformed and took off into the sky, followed by Brainstorm. Velocity and First Aid were taking a quiet walk together through the meadow, also moving away from the shuttles at a pleasant pace. Hound wasn't that far away from Rung and Mainframe, studying the trees and bushes at the edge of the forest.

Mainframe lay back and looked up at the sky. “It really is nice here, even for such an organic world.”

“It is, isn't it?”

Mainframe took a couple of small cubes of engex from his crate and handed one to Rung, opening the other for himself.

Rung cracked the seal and took a sip. It appeared as if the mech had brought enough engex for everyone, but it was apparently intended just for them as he was keeping it tucked securely in the crate, and said crate's lid was already closed. That was when Rung realized that Whirl was conspicuously absent. Whirl had always been a huge fan of shore-leave. Somewhere else to either drink or cause trouble, or both. And actually, counting back, he realized as well that Whirl had not been into his office in twelve days. That was a change since the whole bathtub incident, where the mech began booking a daily appointment.

And even before Whirl had stopped coming, there'd been a change in Whirl's behavior as well. He'd become more evasive regarding talking about himself, and no longer seemed interested whether or not Rung was available in his off-duty times. Instead, he'd asked plenty of questions about Megatron and Megatron starting the war and of Optimus fighting back. Rung had tried to gently remind him that they were here to discuss the 'Problems of Whirl” and not the “Problems of Megatron” or the “Problems of Optimus Prime.”

Suddenly it hit Rung, even as Mainframe moved his position on the blanket to recline a little closer to the psychiatrist. Darkspine's Syndrome—the symptoms were all there. In Darkspine's Syndrome, the boundaries of black and white moral issues, either real or imagined boundaries, had suddenly failed. Their contents had bled together into some grey area and the mech suffering from it was having a hard time grasping right and wrong. It happened frequently, when enemies suddenly became real people or commanders made foolish or fatal decisions. Whirl was currently troubled by issues regarding his responsibility within the war. Perhaps he had managed to shield himself for the fact that absolutes weren't always absolutes until the war was finally over, only for this to strike now.

He'd have to get Whirl into his office very soon before the mech's processors broke down in confusion and frustration. The longer one suffered, the more the mech's mental state could be damaged, and possibly permanently. Yes, the break had been nice for Rung, but he would have to get back to work.

“Rung?” Mainframe asked softly.

Rung suddenly snapped out of his diagnosis of Whirl, realizing he'd been ignoring his date. “I'm sorry. Was just distracted by a bit of business,” he apologized.

“Is now not a good time?” Mainframe asked sheepishly.

“Oh no no no. Now's a great time. I was just being... well... Firejump says I spend far too much time working on and worrying about the crew.”

Mainframe, his mask and visor conspicuously absent, smiled at the orange mech. “Is that why you're taking dance lessons? Or did someone insist? You've been at the past three Casual Nights with Turbine.”

Rung laughed lightly. “Firejump kept asking me to take lessons. He seems to think I have the makings of a dancer.”

Mainframe laughed even louder in response. “He was the one who started me up on dancing again. I used to pursue it a lot in the early part of the war, but I lost track over the vorns. He found out I used to be a Tetrahexian Stauros dancer, and so he hooked me up with Cyclonus.”

Lounging a little more, Rung looked over at the brightly painted mech, so many colors splashed upon one frame. “I've only seen you two dance alone. Are there any dual forms?”

Mainframe shook his head. “Stauros dancing is solo only. They say that each dancer represents one particular star.”

“Out of millions in our galaxy?”

Mainframe laughed. “The best dancers take the names of various stars. My teacher way back when was Acubens, and his conjunx was Tarf.”

“It sounds awfully romantic.”

“It can be. Hey, if you ever want to try the style, ask Firejump. It's a great style if you prefer to dance alone.”

Rung cocked his head, and then he took another sip of his energon. He'd not decided if he'd be interested in pursuing solo performances or dancing with a partner. Or there was always being part of a chorus line.

“You know, we haven't talked much I guess since the escape from Kimia,” said Mainframe.

“No, we haven't, have we.”

Mainframe sighed. “Funny how that is, and we've been serving together aboard the Lost Light and still haven't talked much since.” His hand reached over and patted Rung's arm. “Well we're here now and talking. Let's take full advantage of that and get to know each other. Especially as we'll probably be seeing more of each other, thanks to Firejump.”

Rung smiled. “Agreed.”

Mainframe suddenly gave a little chuckle. “You know... I... I...” He brought his hand up over his optics. “I actually asked him to come with me... on this date. And... and he told me I should ask you out. I said that I thought you were dating Turbine. But Firejump said that you were in the process of expanding your options and suggested asking you.”

“He did?” Rung was quite surprised that Firejump would invest such concern in him.

“Yeah. I don't know why I just told you that. But I thought I should. It did seem like Firejump cares a lot about you.”

“I am one of his students, and he does seem quite devoted to us.”

Mainframe chuckled again. “Well, he did give me a nice suggestion.” His hand slipped over to lie beside Rung's, the sides touching.

Rung glanced about. None of the Pyrobots appeared to have come down on the planet-side excursion. He would have to thank Firejump later for sending Mainframe his direction. It probably was time he caught up with the programmer at the Kimia Facility.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate came into Swerve's, Watch tucked into his cowl. He'd been bringing her there ever since Optimus had taken Synthesis away.

At the counter he quickly noticed Skids and Nautica holding court, surrounded by friends and well-wishers. They'd returned to the Lost Light the day after the planet-side stop. Skids surprisingly had taken Nautica's coloration scheme for himself, and the purple and yellow looked unexpectedly good on him.

Tailgate quickly made his way to a table and sat, extracting Watch from behind his head and setting her on the table in front of him. And he'd not even had a chance to order before Nautica came bustling over. “Tailgate! We heard Optimus was just here... and that he took Synthesis away with him.”

Tailgate hadn't even had a chance to welcome her back, but he touched her proffered hands and held them sadly. “He did. Just flew in, gave a few greetings, and announced he'd be departing with the little guy.”

Nautica dipped her head. “Oh Tailgate. You must be heartbroken.”

“I'm trying not to be too upset over it,” he said bravely, fighting the tears from forming in his optics. He looked at Watch, and then pulled her against his chassis. She spread her arms and what were looking more and more like tank-tread mounts and hugged him back.

“I didn't get to say goodbye to him,” Nautica sympathized, and lay her hand on Tailgate's arm. “I really liked the little guy.” She sighed, and then looked to the remaining sparkling. “At least he didn't take her.”

“No.”

“And Velocity told me that Megatron's carrying again.”

“Yes.”

Nautica gave the minibot's arm an understanding squeeze. “If you need someone to talk to, comm' me,” she said. “And you can always talk to Rung as well. He's been a big help to me in sorting out my questions.”

Tailgate nodded. “Thank you, Lotty.”

She smiled sweetly. “I'd better return. Mr. Lotty's pinging me.”

Tailgate smiled himself. “Did you have a good time on your honeymoon?”

“The best,” she said with all honesty. Giving him a wink she sauntered back over to her conjunx, who put his arm around her waist once more and gave her a welcoming kiss.

Tailgate sighed and looked back at his own companion, now pawing at the pocket on his chest, wanting one of her toys. He obliged Watch and pulled out a plush sphere around which a flat rubber ring rotated. That was when he noticed Whirl across the bar, staring back across at them. Tailgate looked away quickly, turning his attention toward Swerve, hoping the red and white minibot would arrive soon. But instead Whirl approached, his feet light as always on the floor.

“Whirl, what do you want?” Tailgate sighed.

When Whirl did not respond, he looked up to see the mech just standing there, standing as if frozen, staring down at the pair. “Whirl?”

Tailgate watched as the optic fluid tear dripped from the rim of the mech's not-face and splashed to the floor. And then looking down, aghast at the splash of optic fluid on the floor, the rotary hurried out.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	43. Pressed Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung finds himself anything but lonely on his fourth round of Casual Night. Megatron receives a visitor with a coffin in tow aboard the Lost Light.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Turbine sat next to Rung again, though Mainframe had joined the two, along with Doubletap, leaving things a bit crowded on the stack of mats. But no one seemed to mind the crowding. Casual Night seemed rather exuberant and social tonight, what with the return of Skids and Nautica, and the presence of the entire team of Pyrobots.

“It's nice to see you a happy mech for a change,” Firejump said quietly to Rung as they waltzed together during the warm-up dances. “And nice that you'll be coming for regular lessons.”

Rung smiled. “I'm looking forward to it.”

“So are some of the others, and do let me know if you need any more private lessons or a good depressurizing. I'd be happy to fit you into my schedule.”

Rung felt a flush of warmth through his transfluid system. Camiens and their charm... “I'll consider it,” he said as he spun his dance teacher off the end of his arm. They'd practiced this on their last session, Firejump having insisted on a break from the Arolexian forms.

Firejump traded Rung for Turbine when the music changed to a different waltz, and Doubletap cuddled in closely on seeing the opening. “Rung,” he whispered. “I've been hoping for another date with you. I heard you went out with Mainframe and I'd like some friendly time as well.”

Rung had been running warm before, but now there was a certain heat at his core. He wasn't used to having so much attention paid to him. “I might have some free time. Work has been rather busy, and now that I've been convinced to join the classes more often...”

“We don't have to go to the firing range. I heard you like the poetry sessions that Thunderclash has been holding. Or perhaps I could reserve you for the next shore-leave? Maybe fishing in the oil reservoir? I hear that's kind of fun.”

Mainframe moved around to take Turbine's spot. “I'd be willing to come along too, you know,” he said. “Make it a three-way date.” His hand slid over to lie next to Rung's—the sides touching.

By the time Turbine returned, he found Rung all but sandwiched between the two others. “Hey, get your own dates,” he said, taking Rung's hands and pulling him to his feet. “This one's mine tonight.”

Rung was about to open his mouth and say something when Turbine led him out onto the floor, yet another waltz starting up. “Are we allowed to dance now?” Rung asked, glancing over as Cyclonus was taking Firejump into his arms.

“We are. The warm-ups are just that. Usually most of us are too busy socializing to join in.”

As the song began in earnest, Rung immediately noticed that Turbine was holding him much closer as they danced than Firejump had, and he noticed that Turbine's field was wrapping tightly around him. ::Turbine, there's no need to be jealous of the others,:: he said over the comm's. ::They were just being friendly and wanting to be welcoming.::

::I'm not being jealous. I'm just... well how do I put this. I'm not sure I can without sounding possessive. But you're my date tonight. I don't mind sharing the bench with Doubletap, but Mainframe's being a little overt, and so's Doubletap. They looked like they were about to push you onto your back and start 'facing you right there.::

::Turbine, I seriously doubt they would. They were just being friendly and asking me out.::

::Well maybe I will just be a bit possessive tonight and keep you to myself,:: said the jet. ::You're free to date them, but they can make their arrangements when you're not previously engaged.::

Rung agreed, and he assumed Turbine had messaged the others the same thing, for after that Doubletap kept his distance and Mainframe retreated to his usual spot at Casual Night. And Rung felt somewhat guilty when toward the end of the night, he noticed Firejump dancing for him a second time. The Camien didn't come over and say anything, but the lyrics of the chosen piece of music and the sensuous sway of the dark-red hips made it clear where the interest lay. Warbling female voices sang of a sensual, loving union. When Nautica and Skids followed Firejump onto the floor afterward, it was clear his dance had been another invitation.

-o-o-o-o-o-

After feeding Watch and pausing to grab a bit of fuel, Megatron made his way down to the shuttle bay where the hangar-master on duty was guiding in the latest arrival. The sleek purple shuttle touched down and the single occupant disembarked. Behind him on a large, automated hover-dolly was what appeared to be a coffin.

“Metron of Tesarus,” Megatron greeted the arrival.

The green mech gave a curt bow. “Megatron of Tarn. How's Autobot life treating you?” His optics flitted to Watch.

Megatron smirked, and then looked down at his daughter as well. Watch had fallen into recharge somewhere between the bridge and the shuttle bay. “It's been treating me well,” he said flatly on looking back up again.

“Anyway, I brought what you wanted,” he said, flipping a hand toward the coffin. “You sure this is the right time?”

“It's a perfect time. I've finally found someone worthy of that gift.”

Metron shrugged. “It was always yours to do with as you pleased.”

Megatron chuckled. “I have a workbay set up for you, and I'll be bringing down our CMO to assist once you're ready.”

“And the new occupant?”

“Still unaware.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	44. Explanations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron reveals the contents of the coffin--and his intent--to Cyclonus and Ravage. After Crankcase's surgery to repair his long-damaged helm, the Scavengers must deal with Grimlock getting a bit too friendly with Nickel.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Ravage and Cyclonus stared at the contents of the coffin. “Who is he?” the latter asked.

“He's no one yet. The frame is sparkless. It's just waiting for someone to be placed into it,” Megatron explained. Inside the box lay a jet-former, either a somewhat more sturdily built seeker or a heavy interceptor as Cyclonus was.

“If you would help me get him onto the table, please,” Metron said.

The three mechs gently lifted the frame from its box and carried it to the nearby table as Ravage watched from the sidelines.

“Seems a bit light of a frame for you, doesn't it?” Cyclonus commented as Metron began hooking up cables from another piece of equipment and a power source.

Megatron smirked. “This frame is not for me, but for a conjunx.”

Ravage's head snapped up, fixing Megatron with an intent look. “A conjunx?”

Cyclonus finished Ravage's thoughts. “But... I heard you weren't the sort to become attached.”

“For most of my life, no. But this was made for me, long ago. It was a gift from some of my closest lieutenants who felt I should have an appropriate consort. I laughed at the time they presented it, but thanked them and simply kept it tucked away safely in storage.”

Cyclonus folded his arms over his chest. “But now?”

“But now times have changed greatly—you of all people should know that—and I've come to realize I must change with them. Having a consort would be would be in my favor both politically and socially, particularly when it comes to dealing with the organic races.” 

And then Ravage suddenly understood, and he eyed the co-captain warily. “Tailgate?”

“I intend to propose to him when this frame is up and running.” He stroked his hand down the frame, painted a flat white that would serve as a primer coat when a color had been chosen.

“But Tailgate?” Cyclonus wanted to shake his head. “Emotionally he's so young, and can be rather naive to boot. You're... his diametric opposite.”

“Tailgate has proven himself suited to the task, and I am prepared to educate him where necessary.”

Cyclonus watched the engineer work. Even he knew of the famed frame-maker, the very one who'd built Megatron's other bodies. And apparently he'd built a companion piece as well. “If you have considered that and aren't expecting an overnight miracle.” He tried to picture the unpainted frame done up in white and blue. “I'm sure he'll be thrilled. He told me he loved you as well as the sparklings, and that he regretted being a lowly waste disposal technician. And if his spark takes fully to the frame he'll be more than willing to sire for you, I expect.”

Megatron ran his hand over the frame's chest, about the area most mechs had their spark chamber. “Not sire. But carry.”

“Carry?” Cyclonus was startled.

Metron stepped in, proud of his work. “I designed and equipped this frame to deal with frequent pregnancies and the care of multiple sparklings. I was told that not only did Megatron need a consort, but that he needed heirs. Lots of them.” The hand moved down to the abdominal area. “Dual gestation chambers. Four nursing pouches. An extendable pair of grasper arms in the chest.”

Ravage glanced over at Megatron as the former emperor stood contemplating the frame. “I doubt they'll let Tailgate serve your sentence for you.” A certain annoyance tinged his voice,

“Does it matter?” Megatron asked.

-o-o-o-o-o-

There was much giggling from the table. Crankcase and Nickel and Spinister were trying to refuel, having just come out of a long surgery in which the medic and the surgeon had put Crankcase's helm back together. But the arrival of Grimlock had thrown a wrench into the works. The Dinobot seemed rather intent on keeping Nickel in his lap, and rather intent on touching her frame.

Crankcase, his head newly repaired and painted, was actually in a good mood and amused, especially when Grimlock began getting rather handsy. “Watch yourself Grimmy,” he cautioned. “That's Krok's fragtoy and he might get jealous.” Not that Grimlock would understand, but it did get a laugh out of Spinister.

“Nickel fragtoy?” Grimlock asked.

“Excuse me, but Krok's my fragtoy,” Nickel snapped. “And yes Grimlock, would you mind not touching me so much?”

Grimlock picked the femme up and set her back onto her chair. “Krok fragtoy?”

“Yes, Krok's my fragtoy. So you'll have to ask one of the others if you need some attention of that sort,” Nickel smiled. "I've become rather possessive of him."

“What fragtoy?” Grimlock asked.

Spinister pulled his hands back. “I'm not explaining this to him.”

Nickel groaned. “Crankcase, you're the one who said it. I think you're responsible.”

“Hey, I'm still recovering from my repairs. “In fact...” He set down his cube of energon. “I think I really need some recharge. You had me in there more than five cycles.”

“All yours, Nickel,” Spinister grinned. “You get to explain 'facing to the Dinobot.”

She groaned again. “I don't think he'd even understand.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	45. Proposal Accepted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung seizes the moment, and Firejump seizes Rung. Megatron proposes to Tailgate. Try not to squee too hard. I know that this is one of those chapters the Tailtron shippers have been waiting for. Is that a thing? "Tailtron" for the Megatron/Tailgate ship?

Rung sighed. The view was such a lovely one.

Across the room Firejump was giving his plating a cleaning at the sink—dipping a towel into the basin of hot, soapy water, wringing it out, and wiping it over his plating. He was so graceful and gorgeous. The dark red plating—glossy enough to be alluring but not so glossy as to be pretentious—with a golden-yellow blaze across his chest, could be described as a more subdued version of Rodimus' coloration with a simpler pattern. Their builds were similar as well, though Firejump's feet and ankles had obviously been modified for dancing. Rung had never known a mech that could stand or walk on the tips of his feet. There were three joints along the feet themselves, and the ankle joints alone were an amazing piece of engineering. In some places it appeared as if Firejump's plating had been reduced or even cut away to extend his range of movement or perhaps lower his weight. When one compared him to the other Pyrobots, the differences were obvious, and not just for his Camien origins.

As Firejump finished cleaning, he noticed Rung awake and gave his lover a sweet smile. Without saying a word, he moved to Rung's computer console and brought up some music. Then he moved to the center of the room and began stretching his elegant frame, slowly easing through various positions in the Arolexian Folk Ballet.

Rung sighed. Firejump made it look so simple and natural. His storytelling was graceful and flowing. The words formed effortlessly and the sentences built easily. Of course Firejump had been dancing all through the war and probably long before. Rung so far had taken a mere six private lessons.

When the music changed, so did the dance style, and Rung was treated to a second private performance. The dark red mech now performed on the tips of his feet, gliding and pirouetting so perfectly.

When the music ended, Firejump made his way over to his sole audience member and was received with open arms.

“Come back to bed?” Rung offered, making space for the Pyrobot.

“Rung, if I linger, there's a good chance that one or both of us will fall in love with the other. We're both rather emotionally vulnerable right now.”

Rung gave him a bittersweet smile. “You're as wise as you are beautiful.”

Firejump kissed him but dodged the hands that sought to keep him there.

“I understand,” Rung conceded, bowing his head. “And you're right.”

“And this is going to be a long quest. No need to seize the moment.”

Rung cocked his head, and then reached for his spectacles on the bedside table. “I'm not sure I agree with you there,” he said as he put them on. “Look at all the trouble we've had so far. How many crew members have we lost or nearly lost so far? I'm just a psychiatrist working in an office, and so many horrible things have happened to me—some of which should have killed me.”

Firejump put his hands on his hips and looked thoughtfully at the wall. “You make a good point, Rung.” His scholarly tone betrayed his study in the psychiatric field. And then he looked at the orange mech, smirked, and flung himself upon him, covering him with playful kisses and removing his spectacles again.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate was most puzzled when Megatron led him down to one of the workrooms on what everyone was calling 'the science level' these days. He was most concerned when in the room he found Cyclonus and two mechs he didn't know waiting there. One of the strangers, his helm sporting additional optics in the manner of certain scientists and technical professionals, stood next to a work table that had been inclined at a sixty degree angle. The other stranger, his plating an uninteresting dull white, lay against that table with his optics shuttered.

Megatron took Tailgate's hand and brought him forward.

“So you're Tailgate,” said the scientist. “I can see why I've been summoned.”

Megatron gave a cautioning cough. “Tailgate, this is Metron, once the foremost frame-maker for the Decepticon empire.”

“Um, hello,” Tailgate said, unsure of what else to say.

“He designed and built this frame that I'm in now, as well as my previous one.” His hand went to the dull white mech on the table. “This frame as well.”

“Who is this?” Tailgate asked. It looked a bit like Brainstorm or Turbine, had they been painted such a flat tone, but he could tell it was neither.

“This... this could be you,” said Megatron.

Tailgate looked up at Megatron, and then at the frame, and then back at Megatron. “Me?”

“Metron built this frame long, long ago. It was a gift to me, with the intent that I give it to someone else, someone I deemed not only worthy of wearing it, but worth of becoming my conjunx.”

Tailgate stared. Then took a step closer to the frame. And then looked back up at Megatron. “Your... conjunx?”

Megatron smiled and nodded gently at Tailgate, and then he gave a dismissive nod of his head to the other two mechs in the room, who filed out silently.

“You... you want me to c-conjunx with you?” Tailgate stammered.

“If you would be so inclined.” Megatron crouched and took one of Tailgate's hands.

“I thought that... that you didn't want to. You said no when I asked before.”

“I needed some time to think about it. And once I'd thought about it and decided that you and I would make a good pair, I had to wait for this to arrive. So now Tailgate, I do believe we're ready for the Conjunx Ritus.”

Tailgate stared into Megatron's face, and then up at the frame. “This... is for me?”

“I have nothing against smaller mechs, but I would require something sturdier of a partner in such a relationship. Would you wear it? As an act of devotion?”

“The Act of Devotion!” Tailgate gasped. “That's the final act in the Conjunx Ritus. That would make me the Respondent.”

“And myself the Initiator.”

“But the first three acts of the Conjunx Ritus...”

Megatron smiled and stroked a hand over Tailgate's shoulder. “We've been through them already, and in that order. You and I have certainly been intimate, sharing a berth, and you sharing your transfluid. Disclosure? Perhaps it didn't seem like much at the time—not given the circumstances around it—but just after Velocity confirmed Magnus' newspark, I told you that you'd been good for me, and that I wished you'd been at my side long ago. It was a difficult statement for me, but I meant it. And later when I thought about what I'd said, I realized that I was ready for such a commitment. And as for the Act of Profferance, this frame you see here has been a gift that's waited for a special recipient for a long, long time. Monetarily, it's worth a fortune. Metron's frames have never come cheap. But its real value lies in the fact that this frame was designed and constructed for one purpose and one wearer, that of the Decepticon Emperor's consort. And while I may no longer be that emperor, that value still holds.”

Tailgate's fingers reached out to touch the frame. His first thoughts of what he'd mistaken for an unconscious mech when he'd first been brought into the room, had been an impression of handsomeness and power. And now after looking at it for several kliks he found it elegant and of such a superior form. Wings. Weapons. A smooth finish. Perfect lip components. Beautifully shaped optics. Well-set thrusters. Well-set joints. While so many M.T.O.'s gave the impression of mass production and economy, this one seemed exquisite and one of a kind, which it most certainly was.

“This is really for me?” he breathed.

Megatron placed his hand on Tailgate's back. “It would take some getting used to at first. And you'd need flight lessons for your alt-mode.”

Tailgate stood in silence, and when he turned back to Megatron, he flung his arms around Megatron's neck with a happy squeal and hugged him tightly, tears spilling from his optics. “I accept! Oh I accept! Call up Velocity so I can complete the fourth act and we can be a complete family! You and me and Watch and the newspark in there!”

Megatron folded his arms over the minibot. “Not yet. First, Metron will make some adjustments to the frame so that it looks a bit more like you. And then we'll have it painted in your colors. Then we can have you put into it.”

“I'm not sure I can wait! Oh Megatron, I love you!” Tailgate exclaimed, hugging him all the tighter. “I want to kiss you. Please may I kiss you?” His mask slid away in anticipation.

Megatron's expression went taut. “I want a public declaration ceremony. We can kiss then.”

Tailgate's expression fell and the wiggle in his body calmed. “Not now?”

Megatron's visage remained unchanged.

Tailgate's helm dipped in disappointment. “I... can wait.”

And then Megatron slid one finger under Tailgate's chin and lifted his face. Before the minibot could query, the silver mech leaned in and pressed their mouths together, lips and nasal ridges meeting in their first real kiss.


	46. Change of Scenery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tailgate is placed into the handsome aerial frame. Two days later, Tailgate and Megatron sparkbond in front of a select group of friends and crew. Read this chapter slowly. There's a lot of important stuff in it—obvious, hinted at, and hidden.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate woke to find an amassment of messages from his frame and Ratchet staring into his face. The old face smirked. “Good morning, Tailgate,” he said, his voice sounding rather pleased for a change.

“I survived?” Tailgate asked.

The old medic shone a light into Tailgate's optics. “Of course you survived.” The medic then opened his patient's mouth and shone the light inside there. “Survived and looks like you're thriving too.” He pulled back and stood admiring the newly framed mech. “It's going to take some getting used to though, and not just for you. You're not exactly what we think of our Tailgate as being.”

“Do I look okay?” Tailgate asked.

First Aid, standing next to Ratchet now, suddenly spouted a laugh, which earned him a glare from his superior. “I'm sorry,” First Aid apologized. “I thought he was joking.”

“Joking?” Tailgate tried to sit up, and found it awkward to say the least, until he felt hands behind him helping him to rise. He managed to turn his new head to find Velocity there, smiling at him.

“What the less-than-eloquent doctor is trying to say, is that you look amazingly good,” said Velocity.

“Megatron... Where's Megatron?”

“He's recharging in the next room over,” answered Metron, leaning against the wall, unobtrusive until now. “He was feeding that little thing of a sparkling and got tired.”

“Oh! Metron! Thank you so much for this. I'm going to love this frame.”

The mech smirked. “Of course you will,” he said gruffly.

“I'll go get Megatron,” said First Aid, and he hurried from the room.

Tailgate, with Velocity's help, managed to swing his feet off the berth, at which point Metron came over. “Take it easy. Those first steps can be very wobbly.” Metron took one of Tailgate's arms, and Velocity took the other, and together they had him standing by the time First Aid returned with Megatron and Watch, First Aid holding the still sleeping sparkling.

Megatron was smiling, and not sinisterly either. “Tailgate? How do you feel?”

Tailgate looked at his hands and then down at himself. “I feel... fine, I guess.” Supported by Velocity and Metron he managed to walk over to Megatron, who reached for him and then helped to support him as well. “Do you like it?” the former-minibot asked.

“I do. You look perfect. Still a bit like the Tailgate we knew, but now you're an acceptable size for my frame. And very handsome as well.”

Tailgate suddenly felt warmth run all through his new circuitry. “I'm so tall... no longer a minibot. I can look everyone else in the optics now.” He looked about and met Velocity's and Metron's eyes. “And look at these hands! Such long fingers!” He splayed the digits for Megatron to see.

Megatron took the hand, enclosed it softly within his, and then leaned in to give his intended a soft kiss on the forehead. “I'm looking forward to seeing this frame next to mine again and again.”

Tailgate beamed. This really was going to happen.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Two days later, a group of ten gathered in one of the conference rooms on the command deck of the Lost Light. Megatron had insisted on witnesses to their bonding and had chosen a select group for that purpose.

Rodimus was displeased. “It's a mockery,” he muttered to Drift. “This is so unbelievable.”

“I think it's sweet. Megatron's changing.”

The captain gave a disgusted snort. “He's just using Tailgate.”

“I changed. You've accepted that,” Drift said with a smug smile.

“But you're not Megatron. It's like all of these idiots who survived the war decided one day to pass sentence on him and said 'Well here's your reward for killing off most of your race as well as several others. We're giving you a cute family and the perfect, loving conjunx who's not only perfectly loving but amazingly hot since his reformatting'. It's ridiculous, I tell you.”

Drift chuckled. “I still think it's sweet. They're making a commitment to love each other and to raise their family together.”

“And let me guess, you even got them a gift.”

“Cyclonus and I went in together on a little something for them—a good-sized parcel of land outside of Iacon. Perfect for building a nice little house upon. It'll be a good place to raise his sparklings.”

Rodimus groaned. “The sparklings are just until we find the Knights of Cybertron. We really need to get this quest back on track.”

Ultra Magnus began gathering everyone into place, and Megatron came over from where he'd been standing with Cyclonus and Ravage. Megatron's helmet was off and his crown of sensor panels, so rarely seen, had been opened completely.

Rung led Tailgate over from where he and the newly reframed mech had been waiting together. Tailgate put Watch, who was wearing her little party dress, onto the floor in front of Ravage. “Take good care of her,” he said sweetly.

“Tay-tay!” she giggled and clapped her hands together. Despite his major change in size and appearance she'd still recognized him after returning from the medibay.

“When I come back to get you, we'll be a proper family,” Tailgate said. “Your carrier and I are bonding.”

“Tay-tay!” she said.

Tailgate crouched and gave her a kiss. Ravage picked her up in his mouth and took her over to the side of the room. Tailgate then rose and turned to face his conjunx, who to his surprise was standing right there.

“Are you ready, Tailgate of Rivets Field?” Megatron asked.

Tailgate nodded. A conjunx. A real conjunx that wanted their relationship known and documented. Megatron was indeed serious about this. He's felt anxious all morning as they'd prepared, but now everything he'd been feeling somehow had tripled in intensity. His cooling fans—extremely efficient jet-former's fans—kicked on.

“Participants, please take your places,” Ultra Magnus instructed.

Rodimus and Drift moved to flank Tailgate as Cyclonus and Ultra Magnus did the same with Megatron. 

Rewind, recording from the sidelines, now moved in closely.

Rung, whom Megatron had requested to officiate the ceremony, pulled out a datapad and began to recite some litany in Primal Vernacular. Tailgate only caught a word or two of it that he'd known from the songs Cyclonus had taught him. He wondered how many in the room knew the ancient language and could understand what was being said. Megatron just stood there stoically, holding Tailgate's hands and smiling down at him.

And after Rung had been speaking for a couple of kliks, the ancient mech looked up at the couple. “Megatron of Tarn. Tailgate of Rivets Field. Open your chests.”

Both mechs slid open their chestplates, outermost layers folding away and internals sliding away to reveal their spark-chambers.

“Megatron, speak,” instructed Rung.

Still holding his intended's hands, Megatron spoke with a gentle confidence. “Tailgate—who has been the most worthwhile thing in my life since the end of the war, who has gone from being a visitor to my bedside to the most important mech aboard this ship in my opinion; I have never thought myself capable of love and devotion, but has proven me wrong—I ask you to bond with me, that you may always be present in my life. Today, tomorrow, and into eternity.” 

Tailgate was so caught up in what had been confessed, Rung had to prompt him twice to speak. Gathering himself, he recited the lines Drift had helped him to compose. “Megatron—who gave me importance, who allowed me to know the joy of family and the beauty of companionship—I ask you to bond with me, that you may always be present in my life. Today, tomorrow, and into eternity.” 

Tailgate's spark spun madly. The time was nigh. He and Megatron would unite in the most intimate way possible. For a moment he considered that mech on Megatron's right was the sire of the sparkling Megatron carried, and on the left was the mech Tailgate had once entertained thoughts of a romantic involvement with. Such complicated social ties... But this all seemed all right, if very strange.

Strange. There couldn't have been anything stranger than his bonding with Megatron. But it really was about to happen. The Conjunx Ritus had been satisfied. The proposals had been accepted. The requests had been spoken. Their chests were open. All that was left was for their sparks to merge. The concept of conjunx endura was about to become a reality.

With a hum that could only be described as one of happiness, Megatron popped the latches on the large, tremendously reinforced spark chamber through which the light of his soul glowed. And as the five panels opened, the flare of green light drew every gaze, and the silence that fell over the room was fathomless. There was Megatron's enormous spark, open and vulnerable and already reaching out toward the pale glow within Tailgate's chest.

Stunned by the sight, Tailgate needed to be prompted again. Embarrassed, he reached in and manually opened the doors of his own spark chamber, revealing the warm white light of his innermost being.

Immediately Megaton's spark leapt forth, crashing against the other exposed soul and syncing with the spin. Megatron shuffled forward to close the distance between them. “Hold me,” the big mech gasped. Cyclonus and Ultra Magnus grasped him by the arms, bracing him, holding him up. Rodimus and Drift did likewise with Tailgate, who was suddenly crying great tears of emotion.

The two sparks spun together in the space in-between, the larger one engulfing the smaller, and then merging into one. Threads of green and white light wove together into a single entity, becoming no longer visibly distinguishable. One light floated between them, sparking and flaring and seeming to warm the entire room.

Dazed, Tailgate reached up and rested his hand on the side of Megatron's face. “We're together now,” he whispered. “You, me... and... I feel him... the sparkling. He's there!” He looked down at where the gestation chamber would be.

“Phoenix Ambus,” Megatron said quietly.

Ultra Magnus gave a gasp.

Rodimus gave a quiet groan and shuttered his optics. “Dear Primus...”

“Hush,” said Rung, tapping the captain with a finger.

Tailgate reached deeper. “Watch... I feel her too. Can I feel Synthesis?”

“No,” said Megatron sadly. “He's too far away.”

Tailgate sighed. And then he released Megatron's hands, but only so he could embrace him. Their faceplates met and nuzzled against each other before indulging in a long kiss. And when that long, passionate kiss broke, their sparks began to separate. The white and the green became distinct from each other again and returned to their respective chambers, which then closed automatically over them.

Tailgate collapsed first, and Drift and Rodimus carefully lay him down on the floor as his plating and sub-plating closed. Ultra Magnus and Cyclonus assisted Megatron as he too fell. Tailgate was dragged over to lie at his conjunx's side, and with the last of his strength, Megatron put his arm around the smaller mech and pulled him in closely, fingertips stroking his shoulder with an unexpected tenderness.

The other mechs present stepped back, except for Ravage, who picked up Watch again and deposited her into Rung's hands before moving to stand at Megatron's head, guarding him devotedly. Drift and Rung adjourned to a bench along one wall, where Rung bounced the little femme on his lap. Ultra Magnus and Cyclonus looked on, talking quietly together. Rewind simply continued to record the scene.

After a couple of breems, Megatron began to stir again, at which point Ravage gave his forehead a firm swipe of his tongue. “Well congratulations. You've got a conjunx,” he said, not exactly thrilled but not exactly disappointed.

Megatron looked up at the cat-former, the black head hanging over his. “I never thought I would. But things have changed.” He looked over to the handsome jet-former, still unconscious at his side. “They've changed. And I've changed.” He carefully began to sit up, bracing himself with one arm. And when he'd done that, he looked about the room at the others present. “And there will be more changes to come.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spark bonding scene for this was based upon one I'd actually written a couple of years ago. It's from an unfinished, unpublished G1 cartoon tragic story about Hound and Mirage and their secret love child. If I ever get inspired to finish it, you'll notice the bonding scene between Hound and Onslaught (no, not a typo) is the same process wise, with the exception that Hound is being forced to bond with the Combaticon leader, whereas Tailgate and Megatron are very willingly joining their sparks.


	47. The Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lost Light sees many parties on its decks, but none quite like this one. As the newly conjunxed Megatron and Tailgate celebrate with the rest of the crew, it seems like another relationship is about to begin, while a friendship is about to break apart.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The public announcement of Tailgate and Megatron's union hit everyone by surprise, and the open-invitation reception that followed the bonding was well attended—most of the attendees coming to see the new couple, and to get a good look at Tailgate in his new frame.

The main observation deck had been turned into a surprisingly comfortable venue. Chairs and tables had been requisitioned from the corridor end lounges. Decorations had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Swerve and Ten had set up a surprisingly well-stocked bar. Blaster and Firejump had set up a dance floor and light show and an impressive sound system. And above it all, streaming through the windows, was the surreal pink light of the Rhodosian Nebula.

The command staff had authorized a quantum jump to the amazing stellar dust feature in the next galactic arm over. “It will be so romantic,” Drift had gushed at the impromptu planning meeting. A number of them, having only seen pictures heretofore, were quite eager to see it. And once there, the crew agreed. The rosy clouds were indeed romantic, though mostly they made a nice change from the usual monotonus black starscape.

At the central table, draped by a suspended canopy of gossamer fabric, Megatron and Tailgate sat side-by-side meeting their well-wishers. They received congratulations of their union and Tailgate received compliments on his new look. Watch sat on the table with them while Ravage lurked beneath it, hidden by the tablecloth. Megatron had kept his helmet off and his sensor panels extended, inciting much comment. Close to their tent, Ultra Magnus and Cyclonus continued their conversation.

Tailgate was excited and giddy and absolutely thrilled with everything. He hung on his conjunx's arm, trying hard to stay calm. For the first time in his life he felt as if someone really, truly cared about him, and that he was wanted and desired, that there was a glowing future ahead of him.

“Go get us something from Swerve,” said Megatron at one point when they'd been left alone for a moment. He squeezed Tailgate's hand affectionately.

Tailgate bounced up excitedly, and about tripped over his new feet when he came to a sudden halt halfway to the bar. He had no idea what Megatron would want. The mech had rarely visited the bar, and the times he had, he'd simply asked for a small serving of high-grade—nothing fancy at all. In fact Synthesis had been more of a customer than Megatron had. But then he decided to just ask Swerve. Swerve would probably know.

He came to the counter that had been set up, and the group of mechs there all clapped Tailgate on the shoulders or gently placed their hands against his new wings, congratulating him again on his new frame and his completion of the Conjunx Ritus. “So, Tailgate, are you liking the new body?” asked a familiar voice.

“It's really nice,” replied Tailgate. “I still feel so tall.”

“You are tall now... well, tall like the rest of us,” grinned Velocity from her perch on the bar. “Just so you know though, Metron leaves in a few days, so if you need any tweaking done to the frame, make sure you mention it sooner than later.” She gave him a wink. “Especially after tonight.”

Swerve giggled from behind the bar. Tailgate was a good distraction from Velocity's aft, right there where he could just reach over and pat it—if she'd let him. She had taken a seat on the counter when no chair could be found. “And hey, Tailgate, if you decide you don't like the frame, I'll take it. With a body like that, I could charge more for my drinks.”

Velocity laughed. “Swerve, we like you all cute and sturdy though.”

“I bet you'd like me more if I looked sexy like Tailgate does now.”

“Hardly.”

Swerve stared up at her where she sat, having “You like minibots?”

“I like you,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

Swerve for once was struck dumb. “Um, the Lost Light Insider said I was the nineteenth best available mech for a conjunx,” he suddenly said awkwardly. “And you were on that list too. Hey, ah, funny that.”

“Hey, barkeep!” called Mainframe, tapping the counter. “I think the bride needs some booze here.”

Swerve's attention suddenly snapped back to the rest of his customers. “Oh, yeah. Yeah sure. What could I get you, Tailgate? You up for some Vosian cocktails now that you're a flyer? I've got the ingredients for a Screaming Nosedive.” His optics flicked back to where Velocity was now talking to First Aid, who helped her down off of the counter and out to where Ratchet and Drift were talking near the window, their frames all glowing pink beneath the light of the nebula. Had she really just said she liked him?

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rung found Turbine slipping into the seat beside him. “This spot taken?” he asked, already making himself comfortable on the couch, one of the many stolen from the Lost Light's lounges.

“No, no, not at all.”

“May I get you a drink?” Turbine asked, noting that Rung's glass was nearly empty. And before Rung could tell him that he'd had enough, Turbine had somehow gotten Swerve's attention and had ordered two Bronze Boilers.

“Well, thank you. That's very kind of you,” Rung answered instead.

“Anytime.” He turned and looked out over the crowd to where the new couple sat at their table across the room. “Can you believe it?” he asked Rung. “Tailgate and Megatron? Conjunxed? Sweet little toy of a guy and big, guilty, and scary?”

“They always say that opposites attract. And this turn of their relationship did surprise me somewhat, though I was consulted in advance on the matter, along with that of Tailgate's reframing.”

Turbine flipped back his faceguards as he always did to drink. “They came in for a little pre-marital counseling?”

Rung smiled. “Something along those lines.” He had to admit, Turbine looked really good in the soft pink light of the nebula outside.

The blue jet shook his head, but then he looked over at Rung. “So, along those lines as well...” His hand moved over and a rosy-red fingertip trailed slowly up Rung's thigh. “You're not here with anyone else, are you? I did see Firejump with some of the other Pyrobots over there, and I've noticed the looks he gives you at Casual Night.”

Rung suppressed the smile that wanted to form. He'd noticed Firejump earlier when he'd come in to congratulate Megatron and Tailgate, but he'd not ventured over to talk to the Camien. “He gives all his students 'looks.' There's a certain closeness there. I'm sure Doubletap's talked about it, hasn't he? Firejump's even attached to Cyclonus.” He gestured with a nod toward the Tetrahexian, standing talking with Ultra Magnus nearby to the bridal pair. “I suppose you've just noticed it more as you've been my date.”

Turbine smiled and rested his hand on Rung's hip, only to remove it as the serving drone arrived with the two bubbling drinks. “Well I suppose that would alter my perspective. So how are the lessons going?”

“Very well. I'm learning a lot.”

“Well good. You'll have to impress me later if someone turns up the music.”

Rung laughed dismissively. “I don't think anyone wants to watch the ship's psychiatrist haltingly perform the first eighty-nine movements of the Arolexian Folk Ballet. Ask me again in a few vorns.” He lifted his drink and took a long sip, enjoying the tickle of the effervescent cocktail against his chemical sensors and the warmth in his fuel pipe as it slipped down to his tanks

“Well how about a personal performance after the reception. We could go somewhere private and you could show me what you've been learning.”

Suddenly someone did turn up the music and turn down the lights. Before he knew it, Doubletap had appeared and was tugging Rung from his seat. “Rung, let's dance!” the tank-former cheered and pulled the orange mech away to Swerve's dance floor, Rung barely even getting the opportunity to set down his cup.

“Excuse me, Doubletap,” Turbine coughed. “We were having a conversation.” But the protest went unacknowledged as Rung was rapidly drawn away.

Rung's own quiet protests went unacknowledged as well as Doubletap started to waltz with him. And then he was stolen away by Fervor. And then by Skids. And again by Doubletap. And then by Firejump. And finally as he found himself being whirled about by Mainframe, he noticed Doubletap and Turbine at the edge of the dance floor arguing quietly but visibly quite bitterly. A cold twinge ran through him as the two stomped off angrily in opposite directions, Turbine toward the bar and Doubletap out the door. By the time Rung had finished with Mainframe, and Skids again, and finally Kindle, he noted that Turbine had left the reception as well.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	48. Making it Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff Alert! Megatron and Tailgate consummate their union. Swerve pays Velocity a visit in the medibay, and it's not for a medical concern.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate stood at the window of their habsuite, staring out at the rosy nebula that filled seventy five percent of the view and turned his plating pink with its light. Behind him, Megatron was helping Ravage and Watch out the door. The cat-former had generously offered to babysit for the night, saying he had somewhere safe to look after her, and would bring her back around the middle of first shift the next day.

And with them gone, Megatron and Tailgate were left alone.

Megatron joined Tailgate at the window, coming up behind him and placing his hands on his conjunx's wings. “Enjoying the view?”

“It really is lovely. I'll always remember this—the scenery of our joining—all those beautiful clouds and stars and strands of light. Every time I see an image of the Rhodosian Nebula I'll be reminded of how special this time has been.”

“I'm glad.” Megatron placed a soft kiss atop Tailgate's head.

“I'll bet you're tired. It's been quite a day,” Tailgate said, turning and embracing his conjunx. Seeing the former-warlord with his helmet off was still amazing, and he wondered if this was to be a permanent thing, sort of a symbol of the change in his status.

“I am,” Megatron sighed.

“You did a good job of hiding it at the reception, if you were tired then.”

“Being a good leader often requires being a good actor as well.”

“May I get you another cube of energon?” Tailgate offered. “Or would you just like to go to bed now. I know it's a bit early, but if you're exhausted...”

Megatron looked down at the white flyer. And then he pushed the mech's visor up to gaze into the blue optics beneath it. “I'd like to go to bed now, but only if you'll accompany me. I'm tired, but not exhausted.”

“Together...” Tailgate brought his hands up and his fingers fiddled in front of his chest. “I guess that would be expected...” They had been sharing the berth since Tailgate had moved in, but they never went to bed together per se. That... would change now.

Megatron took Tailgate's hand hand led him into the next room, escorting him onto the bed. Kisses followed, and then Megatron stretched out against the pillows on his back. “So... how about a donation?”

Tailgate made an excited hiccup of a noise. They'd not interfaced the past two nights as Tailgate was still settling into his frame. Ultra Magnus had been understanding and had given twice in a row. “I could,” Tailgate said, surprising shyly. “Both Metron and Ratchet gave me the 'all-clear' this morning for that, as well as for the bonding ceremony.”

Tailgate fumbled through his new systems, looking for how to open his array. He'd thought for a moment yesterday that he should probably figure out how to do it, but he'd become distracted by other things in his new coding. Thankfully he did find the right commands soon enough and as he watched the plating drew back smoothly and almost sensuously.

“Oh... that,” Tailgate squeaked.

The corners of Megatron's mouth curled up. “I told Metron to leave them on, for me to remove personally. Come closer.” He patted the berth between his legs.

Tailgate moved into position, finding that his new frame took up a lot more of that same space. “Almost a shame to remove these, but you can't stay new forever.”

Tailgate tensed as Megatron pulled the cap off of the spike housing. And when Tailgate held his hand out to take the cap from his conjunx, but Megatron instead tucked it into a pocket with a bit of a chuckle. “That's mine to keep,” he said. And then the silver mech carefully peeled off the sheet of sealing rubber that had been protected by the cap.

Tailgate quickly looked for the commands to extend the spike, and found them quite quickly. And he gasped as the hidden length rose from the housing—silver with a glowing purple stripe down each side. There was a definite head on the end, topped by a brightly lit stimulant node. “Oh... oh wow.” Compared to what his original frame had come equipped with, it was quite large and very handsome.

“Mmm... perfect,” Megatron appraised. “Though this frame was commissioned to be exactly what I liked. And so...” He reached to take the head of Tailgate's spike and hand, and Tailgate immediately discovered that on the underside of the head a sensory node companion lay opposite the stimulant node.  
“Yes... perfect,” Megatron grinned as Tailgate squeezed his optics shutters together and gave a whimper.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate lay exhausted atop his conjunx when it was over, Megatron fondling his wings delicately, the pair bathed in the light of the Rhodosian Nebula. “Five overloads in a cycle and a half. And here I thought Ultra Magnus was impressive,” he purred.

“I... I think it's the bond. It's like... Well, I don't know what it's like. I don't know how to describe it. I feel you there... inside of me as well. Inside of my spark. And if I try, I can sense Watch and the newspark... Phoenix Ambus, right? And it's all love and closeness there. Or maybe it's just this frame. Oh Megatron... it's wonderful.”

“It is.”

Tailgate slid down to lie upon the mattress, being careful of his wings, and faced his conjunx. “Thank you for going through the Ritus with me. Thank you for making me truly a part of your family.” A hand moved to spread open against Megatron's abdomen where the newspark lay. “And once he's born and Watch is weaned, I can sire the next member of our family. Ratchet said I should be able to. My spark will grow larger and stronger yet in this frame. You won't have to rely on anyone else. I'll be here for everything you need. And then may-bmmmmf!”

Megatron silenced him with a kiss. “Shhh... relax. Get some recharge. The future is mine to worry about. Your future... is just to take care of the family and look pretty for me.”

Tailgate giggled. “I can do that, and so much more.”

“Good,” Megatron said softly. “I'd like to you to do more than just that. Now let's sleep. It was a long day not just for me but for the both of us.” He shuffled, settling his frame in for recharge.

Tailgate made himself comfortable, pressing himself closely to his beloved. “Megatron?” he called quietly.

“Mmmm?”

“I love you.”

The big mech smiled again. “And I love you too.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

The next morning, after the quantum jump from the Rhodosian Nebula back to their course, Swerve headed down to the medibay, hoping to find Velocity there. And to his delight the blue Camien was indeed there, going through some records at her desk. “Swerve, how may I help you?” she asked when he walked in.

“Well hey!” he said enthusiastically. “Are you busy, as in, do you have time to talk to a friend?”

She smiled up at him from her seat. “Well, I'm not doing anything really now, but I'm the only one here right now, so if someone comes in I'm suddenly going to be busy. What's up?”

Swerve grinned. This was going better than expected. He'd lain awake all night mapping out contingency plans, but to his great fortune everything was on the best-case scenario track. “So...” He pulled up a stool and sat down with her. He'd poured himself a Black Sandian Sunrise before heading to the medibay—nothing in his recipe book destroyed a mech's inhibitions faster than that concoction. “Did you have a good time at the reception last night?”

“I had a great time. Good drinks. Good friends. Good things to celebrate. I'm not sure what surprises me more—Tailgate's new frame or the fact that he and Megatron have hooked up... permanently.”

Dear Primus... the best-case scenario was only continuing. She'd given him a perfect cue line. “You know, a bunch of us have been hooking up lately. Some of us even starting families.”

“Who's been starting a family?” Velocity asked. “If there's an expectant carrier aboard, well we'd know about it here in the medibay, and so far it's still just Megatron on his third sparkling.”

Swerve laughed awkwardly. “Well I hear a lot of things when I'm behind the counter and mechs start talking after a few drinks.”

“The rumor mill doesn't count,” Velocity giggled.

“No?” he teased. And then he reached across the desk to touch Velocity's hand. “Last night you said you liked me. That certainly wasn't the rumor mill.” He knew the cocktail he'd had beforehand was wholly responsible for his bravery. Without it, he would have never had the courage to say what he just had, and what he knew he was about to.

“I do like you, Swerve. You're a great guy.”

“Would you happen to like me enough to go on a few dates with me? Or perhaps something more than dating? I could use someone in my life.”

She looked over at him, her screen completely forgotten, her expression unreadable.

Swerve was struck with a sudden disparaging thought. “Unless you're dating First Aid. I know medics tend to prefer other medics, and every time I'm in the medibay you two seem to be working together.”

“Oh Tailgate, I am seeing First Aid.”

Swerve's face fell. “Oh...”

“I'm not.” She punched him playfully in the shoulder.

“Really?”

Velocity laughed mirthfully. “Well I don't think I'm ready to jump right into a committed relationship right now, but I would like to go out with you a few times... get to know you a little better.”

“You would? Like you really honestly would?”

“Well sure,” she said.

“How about you come to the bar tonight at closing time. We'll have a private drink.”

“How about a game of Camien Chess while we're at it?”

Swerve frowned. “I don't know how to play it. I don't even own a set.”

She leaned forward on the counter. “I'll bring mine, and I'll teach you to play.”

Swerve's frown disappeared in a flash. “It's a date!”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters of this whole story and I finally, finally get to post it! I've been eager to for so long, but there were other chapters that had to be written and posted first. Sigh... Chronological order.
> 
> Oh yes, summary... The Scavengers play a deadly game in the halls of the Weak Anthropic Principle. Turbine and Doubletap have a special proposal for Rung.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first scene is based upon a remarkably similar scene in issue #45 of MTMTE.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“You're a notably lousy shot, Misfire,” Krok called from down the hall. “Don't think I haven't taken that into account.”

Hidden in the cross-corridor, Misfire pinched his lip between his dentae. Of course he was a lousy shot. But not so lousy that he hadn't managed to take down both Fulcrum and Spinister. Though technically he'd missed Spinister and blows had decided the victor. “I know, but I don't think you've been counting on this!”

Grabbing his prisoner, he leapt into the corridor, Nickel's pudgy body held in front of him as a living shield.

Krok gasped, startled at what he saw. “Put her down!” he demanded. “She's not part of this.”

Misfire chuckled ominously. “She is now it seems.” The muzzle of his pistol moved from pointing at Krok to rest against the side of Nickel's helm. Her optics opened wide with fright. “I might be lousy shot, but I can't miss at this range.”

“Let her go, Misfire. This is between you and me,” Krok snarled.

Misfire's lip curled sinisterly. “You started this when you killed Grimlock. And now I'll finish it with you, and maybe her. Depends on how she feels about me once you're gone. I'd be happy to offer the grieving widow a little comfort.”

“You wouldn't dare,” Krok choked. He looked at Nickel, hanging limply in front of the purple seeker, covering most of his torso. “Nickel...”

“Shoot him,” she spat.

“But if I hit you...”

“Do it!”

Krok raised his pistol.

“Go ahead. Go ahead and risk it all, Krok,” Misfire teased in a sinister tone of voice. “Let's end this little game, shall we?”

There was a loud bang and Misfire was struck squarely on the helm, just above the left eye. A fatal shot.

Nickel looked up at her captor as his arm loosened and she dropped to the floor. Yes. A fatal shot.

Misfire grimaced up at the suction-tipped dart stuck to his head. He'd been so close to winning this time. And once he'd grabbed Nickel, he'd been sure that victory would be his.

“What the... Crankcase!” Krok squawked. “That was my shot! You're not even playing!” he grouched at the pilot.

The indigo-blue mech twirled his own pistol around his index finger and pretended to blow smoke off of the muzzle. “True. But I can't listen to someone else's party without wanting to pop their balloons.”

“Look, if anyone's hacked off it should be me,” Misfire protested. “I really thought I had this one in the bag.”

“You almost did,” laughed Nickel, wheeling over to throw her arms around her beloved's hips.

“So what happened to you? You weren't playing either.” Krok asked, picking her up and hugging her tightly. He thought he'd loved her when she was a walking funeral, but now that she smiled and laughed and showed such spirit, he knew he was hopelessly smitten.

“I was just checking over the supplies in the medibay, going through the last of the haul from the Glorious Resolution, when someone kidnapped me.”

“And you played along?”

She giggled. “He offered me a rather nice bribe if I was a cooperative victim.” She reached into a pocket and drew out a modestly-sized canister with a clear window revealing something glowing and yellow behind it.

Krok read the label. “Seven distillations? Looks like it's you, me, a saucy holovid, and the Blue Room tonight.” He pressed his mask to her face for a kiss and then set her back down.

“Did somebody say 'Blue Room'?” Fulcrum asked playfully, emerging from another corridor with Spinister behind him. Three darts decorated his chest.

Crankcase groaned. Love was always disgusting when it happened to someone else, which meant that it would always be disgusting. “Anyway, sorry to interrupt you two making the rest of us jealous, but there's some sort of wreckage floating outside. Cybertronian wreckage. And a body.”

“A body?” Krok asked.

“Also Cybertronian.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rung rose from his reading to answer the doorbell ping. Really? Someone was visiting? Visitors were rare to his quarters. It didn't help that the entrance to his quarters was at the end of the hall and around a corner from the other suites. And even if had been right across the hall from the elevator or a shuttler port, he had the suspicion that visitors would still be rare.

The door slid open to reveal Doubletap and Turbine standing there. Turbine had his faceguards swung open and was smiling sweetly. Doubletap had obviously been recently polished “Rung? Hello. I hope you don't mind us paying a visit. May we come in?” asked the latter.

“Ah, well I suppose. I wasn't expecting company.” He ushered them in and gestured to the sitting area and opened the dish on the table, revealing a nice selection of energon goodies. “I'm glad to see that you two have made up after that bit of a falling out at the reception.” They sat, and Rung helped himself to a couple of rust sticks.

“Well we talked about it... begrudgingly at first... but then we decided that we were too good of friends to break up over some love interest we both wanted,” Turbine said.

Rung smiled. His words had been heard after all. “I'm glad to hear that. Everything I've heard about you two says that you've been almost inseparable since the Fortress Maximus incident.”

“Well that's right,” said Doubletap. “We've been accused of getting matching paint-jobs after becoming friends, but it's actually the other way around. It was our colors that landed us both in the medibay together. We only just met as we lay there recovering.”

“So... am I presuming right in saying that you two are now more comfortable and content in a relationship with each other, and that the distraction I seem to have been was just a test of that?”

Both blue mechs laughed. “Well yes and no. We've decided that we aren't about to split up. But that we just don't seem to have any romantic feelings toward each other.”

“None at all?” Rung asked. This was quite unusual to be honest. Some bit of romantic attraction was often present between close friends.

Turbine leaned forward and took Rung's closest hand. “We talked an awful lot about this,” he said sincerely. “And we both came to the conclusion that you deserved the best of us both.”

“Excuse me, but I'm not quite sure what you mean.” Rung was a little puzzled.

“What we're saying is that we'd like to do this as spark-twins often do. No, we aren't actually twins, but we're almost that close. We'd both like to share you,” Doubletap explained.

“Ever been part of a false-trine?” Turbine asked.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	50. Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four scene double chapter! Rung's dance lesson/therapy session is interrupted by a call from the security team. Apparently Whirl's up to something other than his usual antics. Aboard the Weak Anthropic Principle, the thing no one saw coming happens. On the bridge of the Lost Light, Blaster has bad news. In Brainstorm's laboratory, the chapter title is validated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of this being the fiftieth chapter of my little story and the end of Part One, I've made it a good one and put in four scenes! This double-chapter is not to be confused with the 1957 movie of the same title. No giant grasshoppers, stock footage, or sexy blonde reporter ladies here.
> 
> Thank you so very, very much to all my regular readers who've been following this story, and what a story it's become at this point! Fifty chapters, 168 kudos, 4506 views, and 159 comments.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Rung, what's wrong?”

When Rung did not acknowledge the inquiry, Firejump tried again.

“Rung? What happened?”

Pulled out of his trance, Rung froze, his processors wheeling around eventually to the moment. “What? Did you say something? I was light years away.” His right hand flicked where it was raised upon an extended arm. “What was that movement? Movement sixty-two? What am I doing wrong?”

“Movement thirty-two,” Firejump corrected. “Rung, come sit. There's something serious bothering you.”

Rung lowered his arms and his pointed foot with a sigh. “I can't hide anything from you, can I?”

Firejump shook his head. “Not when you get out there on the floor. Now come and sit. Tell me what's going on.” The dark red mech patted the bench beside him.

Rung slouched onto the bench, his arms first resting on his thighs but quickly falling limply between them. “I... I was... Well, Turbine and Doubletap came to my habsuite last night.”

“And...? Things not go well? We all know there was some sort of a fight between them at the reception for Megatron and Tailgate.”

“No, they're all past that and back together, and probably with more strength than before. But...”

“But?”

Rung looked up at his dance teacher from his defeated position. “They said that they decided to share me. They asked for a false trine.”

A smile briefly flickered across Firejump's mouth before he called it back in. “And you're not so sure about this?”

“I'm not sure I'm ready or even up to such a relationship.”

Firejump leaned back against the wall. “I'm certain you're up to it. The readiness however...” He looked again at his newest pupil. “Well I don't know much about Turbine really, but Doubletap... He's a sweet guy. A bit simple. A bit brash at times. But you know how tanks are.”

“Tanks also tend to be very devoted and affectionate once they're in a relationship. Devoted and committed to anything they love, really.”

“Yes. Doubletap's probably one of the most enthusiastic students I've ever had the pleasure of teaching. He'll push himself to exhaustion sometimes during his private lessons and I have to make him stop for a while to cool down. It's not easy for a tank to be graceful, but he puts everything he has into it.” His optics shifted from the ceiling to Rung. “So tell me about Turbine.”

Rung slowly straightened. “Turbine? Well, what can I say about Turbine. He's considerate, generous, masculine, a definite amount of charm there... A little bit of that Vosian ego too.”

“You couldn't do much better than the pair,” Firejump summarized. “Though what's so negative about them? What would make you hesitate before accepting their offer?”

“Well I'm not sure it's them that keeps me back. I may just be my own worst enemy here.” He sighed. “There was an incident... long ago... when I was serving aboard the Fateful Archetype.”

“An incident?”

Rung sighed. But just as he opened his mouth to speak his comm' beeped. Boss, head of the Lost Light's security team, was calling. ::Rung? Can you come down to the morgue? We're having some issues with Whirl.::

“Issues?” He cocked a brow ridge. Whirl in the morgue. Presumably not dead. A dead Whirl would not require a security team. A living Whirl in the morgue could potentially be all sorts of trouble. “What's going on?”

Firejump tilted his head. “This can't be good,” he whispered.

::Whirl broke the locks and he's in there with Ambulon's corpse, holding it and talking to it as if Ambulon were alive. I know this sounds anti-climactic or perhaps obvious, Whirl being Whirl, but I think he's gone off the deep end. Could you come down here and try to talk some sense into him? Or see if we need to take stronger measures?::

“Ambulon's corpse is still aboard?” Rung asked.

Ratchet broke in. ::No one came to claim it when we were on Cybertron, and it's stipulated in the Autobot code that the unclaimed frames of dead medics become property of the medical department, to be used for repairs to living medics.::

“I see. Has Ultra Magnus been contacted?” Rung queried.

::He's on his way. Maybe he can scare him into putting the body and his guns down.::

“So Whirl's holding an empty frame hostage?”

::Essentially,:: replied Boss disgustedly.

Rung grimaced. “I'm on my way, Boss. Just tell everyone to stay back. In fact, just send everyone but yourself and Ratchet away. And tell Ultra Magnus to return to the bridge. I'll talk to Whirl, and I think this will be best done without a crowd.” Rung cut the call and turned to Firejump. “Perhaps we can pick this up later?” he asked.

Firejump nodded. “Do what you need to. We'll continue another time.” He gave Rung a pat on the arm and moved out of his way.

Rung picked up his backpack, stashed at the side of the door, and headed out.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The six of them stood gaping at the huge frame that had been dragged into the entry-bay of the Weak Anthropic Principal. On the monitors it hadn't appeared nearly as large. And their plans of salvaging any usable parts had been quickly quashed when Nickel declared that the poor mech, despite what appeared to be horrific injuries, was still alive. And even if she hadn't been there to make the pronouncement, they would have known the same thing shortly when the mech's optics unshuttered and he fixed them all with a fierce red gaze.

“Decepticons...” he coughed through a damaged vocalizer after staring for some time. “Fellow Decepticons.” Considering the state of him it was amazing he could still speak.

Krok stepped forward, suddenly looking cheered by their guest. “You're a Decepticon? Well welcome aboard the Decepticon vessel, the Weak Anthropic Principal,” he said, moving to the mech's head. “We found you drifting in space along with the remnants of your craft. You're safe now. Our medic and our surgeon will be performing repairs, and we'll bring you fuel immediately.” He nodded at Fulcrum, who headed into the main lounge for said fuel.

Nickel gave an exasperated sigh. This guy was a mess. He looked as if he'd been hit with a missile or two and had had the bad fortune to survive. She'd be performing repairs for the next vorn given his condition. So much for the surplus of supplies from the Glorious Resolution. With a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan she stepped forward herself and began to survey the daunting task ahead.

“My name is Krok,” Krok continued. “I'm the senior Decepticon here and will see to it that you get the care you need until you recover. Frankly, you're lucky we found you. The Galactic Council has been patrolling in this area of late.”

“I am indeed fortunate,” said the big mech. His optics rolled down to where Nickel was grimacing as she prodded about his chest, muttering despairingly at what she was finding. “Your medic I presume?”

“Yes, this is Nickel,” Krok said proudly. “Don't let her size fool you. She's very good at what she does. And Spinister will be working on you as well.” He looked to his crew, only to find Spinister crouched on the floor with a piece of metal that had broken off of their guest, using it to stab at another piece of metal, likewise broken off of him. Krok decided not to introduce the surgeon at that point.

The mech's fingers twitched. “I am in good hands then.” He looked down at the back half of the minicon, the rest of her having burrowed between the distended plates of his torso in her examination. “Where are you headed, Captain Krok?”

Captain Krok... that had a nice ring to it. “Back to Cybertron. We've got a delivery to make there.”

Fulcrum returned with fuel and a fueling hose, and began looking for a port, which he soon found in the shoulder region. Carefully he began to empty the precious canister into the broken mech.

“Cybertron. Excellent. I was wanting to go there myself. I need to find Megatron before the Autobots execute him.” He managed to raise one arm and flex his hand.

The Scavengers all looked at each other.

“I guess you haven't heard...”

“Heard what?”

Krok paused. At least he was more up to date than Fulcrum had been. “Megatron's supposedly defected... Became an Autobot and then joined some quest to find the Knights of Cybertron.”

The big mech wheezed a static-filled laugh. “Defected?”

“Yeah, I know, right?” Misfire giggled. “It's worse yet though. He's got...”

Crankcase quickly slapped a hand over Misfire's vocalizer.

“On a quest? The Knights of Cybertron are just a legend.”

Krok shrugged. “Who knows. But anyway he's off to go find them. They even made him a captain or something.”

“In that case, Captain Krok, you will be changing course to rendezvous with his ship.”

Crankcase huffed. “We don't know where his ship is.”

“The ship has some pretty serious quantum engines, capable of jumping halfway across the galaxy,” Krok explained.

Fulcrum drained the last bit of the fuel and took the empty canister away.

Despite the damage to the mech's faceplate, they could see him raise a brow ridge. “In that case you had better start making inquiries as to his location.”

“How about we just drop you off on Cybertron, and you can continue your mission from there,” Krok said, a little miffed at the presumptuousness of their rescuee. Decepticon or not, he was subject to their gratitude.

“You will be making those inquiries, and you will be taking me to him, Captain Krok.”

Krok put his hands on his hips. “Excuse me, but I believe our mission takes precedence. Besides, we barely have enough fuel to make it to Cybertron, let alone go chasing after a ship that may or may not be there once we even know where to go.”

“Do you know who I am?” The big mech moved his arm and grabbed Nickel, drawing her out of his abdomen. He brought her to his faceplate. “Do you, little medic?” His tone of voice was low and threatening.

“I don't,” squeaked Nickel, quite intimidated.

Suddenly concerned, Krok moved to try to get him to unhand Nickel. Apparently their guest was not as broken as previously thought.

“Do you, Captain?” The voice was nearly a growl.

Krok looked to the rest of his crew, who looked equally puzzled. The damage had hidden the big mech's identity quite effectively.

The stranger spoke. “I've been called many things, but most know me as Overlord.”

The rest of the Scavengers suddenly froze in terror as they processed the seriousness of the moment. They'd found and rescued Overlord.

“Group conference!” Krok cried, and the six Scavengers darted into a corner, gathering into a tight huddle.

“I take it this guy is really bad news,” Nickel inquired.

“Really, really bad news,” Krok answered.

“I thought the Autobots had him on Cybertron, like seriously had him, like all but executed him,” Misfire sputtered.

“That's what I'd heard,” confirmed Crankcase.

“Well he's here now and the only way we're going to survive this is if we take him to Megatron,” choked out Krok.

“But we have no idea where the Lost Light is, do we?” Nickel asked, pointing to Crankcase. “Isn't that what you said?”

“I have no idea where any ship besides the Weak Anthropic Principal is at any given moment,” he replied.

Krok sighed. “Then we had better find the Lost Light pretty quickly.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Captain?” called Blaster from the communications station.

“Yes?” answered Rodimus, looking up from the datapad he and Drift were poring over.

“Long range scanners have picked up something that might be of concern.”

“Now what?” he grumbled. “You know we only deal with one incident a day and we only just got that mess with Whirl cleared up.” He pointed to the hand-written sign someone had made and hung for a laugh above the main monitor, a sign that read 'By orders of the captain, we shall only contend with one crisis per day. All other crises, please sign in and your particular disaster will be addressed in the order it was received'.

Blaster pressed on. “There seems to be a fleet of ships headed our way. I first detected them before the incident in the morgue, but the readings were vague at that point. When I checked a breem ago, I was able to determine that they do seem to be on an intercept course with us.”

“A fleet of ships? What kind of ships?”

“Cybertronian.”

“Cybertronian? All right. But since it's probably just a large party coming to tell me what an awesome job I'm doing of leading this quest, why should I be concerned?”

Blaster grimaced at the captain's teasing. “Well perhaps because at the center of this fleet, of perhaps a dozen larger ships, there seems to be a Decepticon warworld. The images are still on the sketchy side but...”

“A warworld?” Rodimus interrupted, suddenly turning serious. “I thought we destroyed them all.”

“Most. There are three that reportedly were lost in the depths of space.”

“How do you lose something the size of a dwarf planet?” Rodimus muttered to Drift. Drift shrugged.

“Well get Megatron up here. Maybe he knows something we don't. And when you get any more information let me know. Number of ships. Any markings. Any identifiable ships. Time of interception.”

Blaster nodded. “Yessir. I'm on it.”

Rodimus turned back to Drift. “A Warworld? Headed for us?” He folded his arms over his chest. “I'm not declaring it a crisis yet, but something tells me it's not a party from Cybertron.

-o-o-o-o-o-

In his laboratory, Brainstorm stiffened at the noise. What was that sound? A muffled voice?

Pausing for a while, he heard the voice again... definitely a voice. And then he remembered that his Early-Early-Warning System had been sitting on the desk where a good chunk of his present project had been inadvertently piling up on it.

Clambering down to the floor, he pulled away the bins of parts and isolation sheets.

The yellow box sat there, and then it spoke once more. “Uh-oh,” it declared as clear as day.

“Please tell me you didn't just say that...” Brainstorm coughed.

“Uh-oh,” it confirmed.

Brainstorm gritted his dentae as he hit the acknowledgment button.

-o-o-o-o-o-

End of PART ONE

-o-o-o-o-o-


	51. Red Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Command staff meets to discuss a plan of action. Megatron makes additional plans—plans that scare his conjunx.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The elevator doors were about to close when Brainstorm suddenly leapt into the compartment. So that had been the footsteps moving quickly behind him. “Captain! I'm glad to have caught you here.”

Rodimus looked at the scientist, squinting one optic. “Can this wait? I'm on my way to an important meeting.” The elevator doors closed. “Command Deck, please,” he ordered.

The yellow box in Brainstorm's hands suddenly squawked. “Run for your lives!” it cried.

“That's...” Rodimus pointed at the device. “That's your Early-Early-Warning Device isn't it?” he asked.

“Yes, and it's been telling me that something's amiss since late this morning.” He looked down at the strange thing. “The warnings have been escalating all afternoon, and even continued after the lockdown on Deck F was lifted. I decided I should tell you or someone when they hit 'This is looking pretty bad' and just on the way here it switched to...” He pressed the button marked 'current status'

“Run for your lives!” the box responded.

“Oh dear Primus,” Rodimus groaned. “You'd better come with me,” he said as the doors opened. Moments later they were walking into the executive conference room.

Megatron, Ultra Magnus, and Drift were already there waiting, staring up at the display monitor at the images Blaster had provided.

“Run for your lives!” the box greeted, and heads turned.

“Hey, isn't that...?” Drift began, pointing at Brainstorm's device.

“Yeah, it is,” Rodimus answered.

“Rodimus, there's more bad news,” Ultra Magnus said somberly.

Rodimus growled as he took a seat, Brainstorm sitting beside him. “Of course there is... Nothing seems to go right around here.”

Ultra Magnus pointed to the latest image of the approaching fleet. “We've been able to improve the detail level in the most recent scans, and Megatron has been most helpful with identifying the ships. Through that we've been able to determine what we're facing.”

“So what are we looking at here?” Brainstorm asked.

“This fleet of ships is on an intercept course with the Lost Light. Long range scans detected them this morning,” Ultra Magnus explained to the newcomer. If Rodimus had brought him in, he'd obviously been cleared for knowing what was going on.

“About when my Early-Early-Warning Device began going off. And that's a Decepticon warworld at the center, isn't it?”

Ultra Magnus put a finger to the globular object at the center of the image. “As we've learned from our co-captain, this warworld was under the command of Deathsaurus when he split off from the Decepticon cause after the battle on Clemency. Most of his command staff and about half of his troops went with him.”

“A little lover's spat?” Rodimus asked snidely of Megatron. It wasn't much of a secret that Megatron had been involved intimately with a good number of his command staff during the war.

Megatron glared at him. “Deathsaurus valued the lives of the mechs under his command more highly than the war effort. He was unwilling to make certain sacrifices, and so he struck off on his own and reportedly was leading his contingent as a pirate fleet out on the galactic rim.”

“And there's your pirate fleet,” said Drift.

Rodimus shifted in his chair. “Which leaves us with the question ofwhat are they doing here? And why are they coming to see us. Surely they know the war's over.” He glanced again at Megatron. “You sure it wasn't some lover's spat. Deathsaurus the type to want to put things back together? Or to possibly get even now that he's got some backing?”

Megatron ignored the comment and only rose to move to the image. “Of the ships I can identify, I am led to believe that this is not going to be a friendly visit with what's an Autobot ship.” He pointed to one of the starcraft. “This is the Luminous Star, commanded by Goldwing, a Vosian deeply loyal to the Decepticon cause.” His finger moved to another ship. “The Glory of Kaon, commanded by Highstrike, a fanatical Decepticon.” The finger moved on. “The Pacer, the gunship of Blue Bacchus, Deathsaurus' second-in-command. The Peaceful Tyranny, commanded by Tarn, the leader of the Decepticon Justice Division. “The Beyond the Shadow of a Doubt, another of Deathsaurus' contingent. The Anguished Cry, commanded by Fivelink, once the head of the Decepticon punitive system. The Resolute, the private ship of the missing Decepticon general Divebomb. The Just Severance, captained by Prism.”

“Formerly the Forbearance, before Prism defected from the Autobots to the Decepticon side and took his ship and crew with him,” Rodimus huffed.

“My guess is that this is one of the final contingents of the Decepticon army, which for some reason has business with us, or perhaps one of us in particular,” Megatron explained. His optics fell on Ultra Magnus at the last of the statement. “Chances are... it's me. Perhaps to rescue me. Perhaps for revenge. But before I take all of the blame, there are quite a few aboard the Lost Light with old debts and grudges themselves from the war.”

“I'm sure Tarn would be happy to find me,” Drift moaned. “Though he might have issues with the other two former Decepticons in the room as well.”

Brainstorm shuddered. “Well have you contacted them? Asked them if they are indeed coming to meet us, and what their intent is?”

“Not yet. We were going to make an attempt at contact after this meeting,” Rodimus assured him. “We are going to need a lot of contingency plans depending on what their intent is. And assuming it's not friendly, we're going to need some serious contingency plans.” Rodimus leaned forward onto the table, resting his head behind his hands. “The Lost Light packs a punch thanks to my upgrades, but it's still no match for that fleet. We need more than an attack plan.”

“Run for your lives!” the Early-Early-Warning Device suggested.

“Well we can't run for our lives,” Rodimus snapped, “Because it seems that the quantum engines have only a 14.3% charge after that jump out to the Rhodosian Nebula and back.”

Drift gave a bit of a cough and Megatron folded his arms over his chest.

“When will they be here?” Brainstorm asked before the awkward moment got too intense and someone started in with the accusations.

“At our current progress, twenty-three cycles. We can buy some time by slowing our pace, but that's if they do not pick up theirs to compensate. And some of those ships contain quantum engines as well, which means that some if not all of them could be on us immediately,” Drift supplied.

Ultra Magnus returned to the table, Megatron following, and the two sat. “So... I think it would be best to compile a list of theoretical situations, and our response to each.”

Rodimus sighed. “And then we make the call.” He flopped back against the back of the chair. “This... this is going to be a mess.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Megatron?” Tailgate asked softly. “Are you all right? You've not had your fuel.”

The former-warlord looked up from his thoughts, his face a confusion of emotion. After the evening meeting he'd returned to their habsuite, fed Watch, and then sat staring into space as she fell asleep in his arms.

Tailgate placed a hand on the silver shoulder closest to him. “There's something wrong, isn't there? Is there anything I can do? I know there was that meeting tonight, and your spark seems... Well, I dunno. Well everyone seems kinda worried about something but no one's talking about anything.”

Megatron turned away, staring at his fuel where Tailgate had placed it on the convenience table beside the couch. “There is something wrong. I need to think.”

With a sigh Tailgate stepped away. “I'll leave you alone then. Just make sure you drink your fuel,” Tailgate said quietly and headed for the berthroom. Since moving in with him, he'd noticed how much time the old mech spent in thought. Since conjunxing with him he'd simply felt it. Of late it had been far more time.

And he'd just reached the door when Megatron called after him.

“Tailgate, wait.”

Tailgate paused, looking back hopefully at his conjunx.

Megatron grabbed the energon and downed it swiftly. “I'm done thinking for now,” he explained, rising from the couch. He placed Watch at Ravage's feet.

“Well that was quick.” Tailgate smiled at him as he approached, but was then gasping as Megatron suddenly pinned him at the shoulders against the door to the berthroom. His conjunx shoved a knee between Tailgate's thighs as he simultaneously captured his lips in an aggressive kiss. The silver mech's glossa pushed into the smaller mech's mouth, hot and hungry.

“Megatron?” Tailgate whimpered when his mate pulled back and fixed him with an intent stare. “You kissed me...” There had been light touches of affection and gentle kisses since before their marriage, but his conjunx had never kissed him this way before. In fact no one had ever kissed him this way before. Behind Megatron's shoulder he noticed that Ravage was now standing, watching Megatron intently while Watch slept at his paws.

“I told you I'm done thinking. It's time for action.”

There was something powerful and dangerous in the tone of Megatron's voice, and it frightened Tailgate. He unfolded his arms, gathered his strength, and pushed Megatron back. “You're... acting strangely...”

Megatron smirked, taking Tailgate's hand and bringing it to his mouth. He kissed the back of it and then slipped the thin fingers into his mouth, sucking each one by one. And when he'd finished with the hand, he lay it upon his shoulder and pressed his frame into Tailgate's.

“Megatron?”

There was a low chuckle and the silver mech placed rough kisses along Tailgate's jawline before moving down to his neck. The whimper that followed was one of intermingled fear and pleasure, and Tailgate tried to push him away again.

Megatron relented and allowed for it, but was not in the least bit discouraged by Tailgate locking his elbows to keep his mate at bay. “I think we should move this into the berthroom before I end up fragging you right here in front of Ravage and Watch,” he rumbled.

“Megaaa...ah!”

Tailgate's plea was cut off by Megatron sweeping him up into his arms and carrying him into the room beyond the door. He could feel the big mech's EM field burning possessively and wrapping around his own. There was a rise of heat in his frame itself as well—the heat of intense arousal and emotion, one he'd never felt or known before in Megatron. Until now the mech had always been calm and fairly passionless. But now? That pronouncement? Was it because they were now married?

The door closed and locked behind them. Tailgate felt himself deposited into a sitting position upon the berth. When he dared to open his optics, he found Megatron staring at him, a look of unrestrained desire upon his face. “Do... d-do you n-need a donation,” Tailgate stammered. Maybe that was this was about. That he needed the transfluid that badly he would seek it so forcefully? They'd been off their schedule of late, and it had been two days since he'd given and four since Minimus Ambus had. But all Megatron ever had to do was ask. Tailgate had never refused a request.

Ferociously Megatron kissed him again as he crawled forward onto the berth, covering Tailgate like a cloud upon a mountain, pinning the blue and white jet-former against the cushioned surface. “I need you,” he growled. He buried his face into Tailgate's shoulder and began to rock his hips against his conjunx's array. “You're mine, Tailgate. Frame and spark. Your every cog. Your every thought. You belong to me.”

“Of... of course. You're my conjunx endura. We're one, right?” His cooling fans were spinning up, thought more out of nervousness than arousal. This was not the Megatron that had ever so gently proposed and bonded with him.

The ominous low chuckle came again, and Megatron pulled back, staring down at the jet's quivering frame. “Open for me.”

“Open?” he choked, looking down at the cover of his array. He gasped at what he saw besides. At what point had Megatron released his spike? Right now it was there, hovering in predatory anticipation, a menace befitting a mech who'd brought Cybertron to its knees in the fury of war, thick and silver and already glistening with lubricant. And they'd been sharing a berth how long now? And he'd been using what now seemed a sorry excuse of a minibot's tool upon the warlord, followed by the somewhat more adequate equipage of his new frame? And yet he'd never seen the monstrosity Megatron had kept hidden away.

“It's time you lost that last seal.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	52. Passions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whirl visits and makes a date with Ambulon (yeah, I know Ambulon's a corpse in the Lost Light's morgue). And Megatron takes Tailgate's valve for the first time (reader discretion advised).

-o-o-o-o-o-

Whirl soon had the door to the morgue open once more. They'd obviously not improved security since his previous visit.

Stalking carefully across the floor he came to the only corpse in storage... Ambulon's grey frame. “Miss me?” he asked. He stroked the body with one claw. “That's right. I knew you did.” He knelt beside it but left his arms draped over the slab. “Ambulon, I had that vision again,” the rotary confessed. “The battlefield... thousands if not tens of thousands dead upon it. And again they all turned into blue flowers. So many flowers... But this time, I was standing on a pedestal at the middle of it.”

“Was I there?”

“No. But I wish you had been. With your help I could have turned all those flowers back into mechs. Get them all ticking and tocking again.”

Ambulon laughed. “You could have.”

“Would be better than making mechs one at a time like I did with Watch. That takes too long.”

“But the 'facing's nice.”

“It is.” Whirl suddenly lifted his head. “Want to go to Swerve's? We could have a drink and talk about turning flowers back into mechs.”

“I'd like that.”

“I'd like that too. We'll have a few drinks. Maybe some energon goodies. Maybe we could find some flowers to practice with.”

“To make up for what you've done?”

“Yeah... if Megatron can atone for his sins, well, so can I.”

Whirl stood and lifted Ambulon's frame from the storage slab. “Let's go to Swerve's. Maybe they'll still be celebrating that stupid little minibot's marriage to Megatron even though it was ages ago, wasn't it? I wonder if Megatron's going to spark him too now. Imagine that—both of them carrying.” With a laugh he bore Ambulon's corpse to the door, and he was careful not to bang Ambulon's head on the frame as he passed through. “Imagine that,” he repeated and laughed again.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate felt Megatron push at their bond, as hot and needy as the silver frame poised above his.

Surrender. His conjunx was asking for him to surrender.

With a whimper Tailgate did, spreading his thighs, shuttering his optics, opening his array, and opening the bond. This was normal, right? This was expected between two conjunx partners, wasn't it? There would be pain too, wouldn't there?

Suddenly Megatron was everywhere. Inside him. Upon him. Reaching. Touching. Taking. Huge black fingers pulled off the cap barricading Tailgate's untouched valve, revealing the pure white folds of mesh beneath. Tailgate did not miss the surge of emotion from his mate—arousal, pride, desire, and conquest flaring across the bond. “Beautiful...” the big mech breathed almost reverently.

“Is it going to hurt much?” Tailgate asked, feeling Megatron's fingers begin to stroke their way across the flexible surfaces.

“Only if you struggle. But you aren't going to struggle, right?”

“No... No of course not.” Again their came that pulse of something asking him to surrender.

“Just keep still, and let me do the work,” Megatron instructed. “I know you're frightened, but all will be fine in the end.”

Frightened? Perhaps he was. He suddenly tensed. Yes he was frightened...of his own conjunx. How ever had he decided he loved him? Why had he decided he loved him? Had he been that desperate? Was he really that naive? Was he really that foolish? Megatron wasn't just some weary and forgotten has-been. Within the tired old mech a fire still burned, a fire that had suddenly found its way to the surface and scorched all around it, a fire that was about to scorch him now and singe his spark.

“Tailgate. Tailgate...”

“Megatron?” Tailgate wondered how long he'd been caught up in his fearful thoughts.

“Quiet your mind. It's not like we haven't interfaced before.”

That was true. They'd interfaced almost regularly since Tailgate had found himself a place as a nanny to Synthesis and Watch. He'd join Megatron on the berth and go at it until his transfluid reservoir had been drained and he was exhausted. But he'd used his spike exclusively. His valve had remained sealed and virginal up until the day he'd been reframed. He'd never even removed the cap over it and felt around. And in the short time since that the new equipment had remained just as disused.

“Concentrate on this.” Megatron lay back upon him and began kissing him again. “Concentrate upon my mouth and the pain will be minimal.”

Tailgate tried, and for a while he was able to. Megatron's passionate kisses were quite distracting, but nothing could distract when he felt his conjunx's huge spike press at the entrance of his valve, the stiff folds of mesh that kept the interior clean and the lubricants moist. He pulled in a sharp breath as the tip of the spike slid inside and pressed to the seal just beyond. One quick thrust and it would be torn open, allowing Megatron into the intimate recesses.

“Tailgate,” the rumbling voice came again. “Are you ready.”

“Please... just take me...” he whimpered. Prolonging the inevitable would do nothing.

Megatron kissed his mate. “In time you will get used to this.” He rolled his hips forward, pressing against the barrier.

But it did not break. It stretched and strained against the intrusion, refusing to surrender.

Tailgate whimpered again, this time wordlessly, his processors trying to wrap themselves around the strange sensations. There was pain and pressure and pleasure and worry all tangled up into a knot—a knot at the entrance of his valve, and he knew that in moments that knot would shatter.

But there was no shattering. Instead there was a sudden lurch of Megatron's frame and the seal tore. The big mech drove inside, forcing the tight walls apart and filling him completely. Megatron grunted and Tailgate cried out. And he continued to cry out as Megatron pressed him into the berth again, holding him down and locking his hands around him.

“Don't struggle,” Megatron reminded. “It will only hurt more if you struggle.”

Tailgate did his best to still himself, but found it a difficult task. Admittedly he'd previously been a bit titillated by the idea of Megatron taking his valve at some point, but right now the reality of it was overwhelming. His first time ever to use his valve and there was just so much to take. Megatron's spike matched the rest of him—large and intimidating. Never mind that Metron had constructed this frame to be a perfect fit for Megatron. But at least Megatron was not moving, simply lying atop him for now with his spike stretching the untested equipment. At least his conjunx was giving him a moment to recover from the initial breaching.

Okay, he convinced himself. Everyone with a sex life went through this. There were always so many firsts to experience and hopefully enjoy. For a moment his thoughts slipped to Nautica and Skids and wondered if they had experienced a moment like this. It was hard to imagine either of them so completely overwhelmed by the other. They were such equals in so many things.

“Better now?” Megatron asked. His crimson optics were bearing down into Tailgate's blue ones.

Tailgate looked up into the face of a mech that hardly seemed familiar now. The quiet old man had vanished, leaving behind this younger, fiercer version of himself. “I... I think s-so,” he stuttered.

“Good.” His left hand slid out and caught Tailgate's right, forcefully entwining their fingers. And then he began to move.

Tailgate fought the urge to cry out again as his conjunx pumped his hips into him. Some sensation too pleasurable to be called pain and too unnerving to be called pleasure rippled through him in wave after wave. He shut down his vocalizer and shuttered his optics. Endure. Be brave and endure. This was normal, right? This was what he did to Megatron with every donation, right? Had it felt this way for Megatron that first night so long ago, when Tailgate had first made himself available for the benefit of the sparklings?

The huge silver spike slid in and out, tapered to be smooth at the top and thick toward the base. Yes, it did hurt. His hips felt as if they were going to break and his legs felt like they were about to detach. Overwhelmed sensory circuits burned and... something... something inside his valve was protesting. And it was so tight. The outer folds of mesh stung while the inner layers seemed to be struggling against every thrust. Perhaps Metron had miscalculated or mismeasured or something and Megatron's spike was actually too large for what had been constructed. It hurt in ways Tailgate had never imagined he could hurt. But at the same time, despite the intense discomfort, it was so delicious and embraceable. He wanted it to stop, and soon, but at the same time he wanted it to continue forever, his universe reduced to two bodies and a berth and the unexpected and marvelous sensations of interfacing.

As he calmed and began to grow accustomed to what he was feeling, Tailgate realized he was gasping every time Megatron's spike met the end of his valve, and that tears of optic wash were running down his face. His wings were rubbing against the berth, stimulating him further. Such sensitive wings. No wonder flyers were so careful with them and rather touchy about anyone handling them. Wings... he'd still not learned to use them yet. Right now they were simply decorative pieces of his new frame without any function. But the soft covers of their berth and the pillows felt good upon them. The sliding and pressing of his frame only made that feeling better. Suddenly Tailgate noticed the rising charge within him. Was he going to overload from this? Could he? He'd only known himself able to overload with his spike so far. 

Megatron's thrusting ceased, and he kissed Tailgate deeply once again. And then he kissed away the tears, suctioning and licking them up as if they were splashes of energon and he a starving mech. “You look so beautiful like this,” he purred. “So beautiful. Does it still hurt?”

Tailgate's hands clutched at the broad expanse of Megatron's chest plate. “Only a little,” Tailgate squeaked.

The silver lips smiled, and then kissed him again, on the forehead this time, just above his visor. “It will get easier with each time,” Megatron assured him gently. “But for now...

Megatron began to move again, faster now, the tender intermission over, and Tailgate gave a long wail as his conjunx pounded into him. Every thrust stung and his valve rippled and flexed as if it were alternately trying to make room for the spike inside and then squeeze it out. The pressure began to coil tightly and Tailgate knew that if it continued he'd soon be overloading. And that might pull Megatron into overload too. And maybe then the internal assault would stop. Or would his conjunx want to continue all night?

Tailgate shuddered, and as he shuddered he felt himself pulled to the very edge of a climax. The huge spike was so deep inside of him now hitting what felt like every sensory circuit in his new frame. His focus spiraled in to where the sensations all seemed to concentrate... presumably the entrance to his gestation chamber. Mechs talked about it when gloating about their berthmates' prowess. His shudder suddenly intensified and the pressure that had been building suddenly exploded in a blinding wave of pleasure. He convulsed as that wave overwhelmed him, every strut tightening as it rushed upon him, and then as it receded just as quickly, he was left limp and twitching and feeling as if he'd just been dumped out of a tumbling mill.

That was when he realized Megatron was in the same state, his conjunx riding out the last of his own overload, his hips twitching arrhythmically in a few final thrusts, grunts of exertion accompanying each. And then with a mighty exhalation, Megatron collapsed atop him, his frame going lax. The huge spike inside of him slipped halfway out.

Despite everything, Tailgate couldn't help but smile. In all their many interfacing sessions Megatron had not once overloaded. Even when he'd tried to stimulate the carrier further, the silver mech had politely refused. “Concentrate on yourself,” Megatron had always ordered calmly. Then he'd gently lift Tailgate's hands away and put them back on his kneecaps.

Tailgate hugged him, kissing his mate wherever he could, purring happily. The pain had faded into the background now, and the euphoria of having at last brought the big mech to orgasm seemed to be overwhelming all else. “I love you, Megatron,” he cooed, pushing as much love and pride as he could across the bond while trying to tamp down what discomfort remained.

Megatron's optics unshuttered, and he shifted his position to gaze into the handsome face of his conjunx. “I love you too, Tailgate,” he said softly. “My beloved conjunx. My favorite. Now you shall always be mine, and mine alone. No one else shall ever touch you.” 

-o-o-o-o-o-


	53. Strange Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's fund-raising time. If you like reading shameless fanfiction works such as this one, please support the archive to continue giving them a home. Is it worth $20 to you? Is it worth $50 to you? While the authors make nothing from their postings, there needs to be a home for their work.
> 
> Three scenes! Cyclonus dances as he tries to sort out his discomfort with the turn of events. Whirl and Corpse!Ambulon have a great time at Swerve's. Tailgate and Megatron wind down after the events of the last two chapters.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Cyclonus shut the door behind him and switched on the wall sconces. Firejump always left the studio unlocked so that his students could come in and practice whenever they liked. And right now, Cyclonus decided, would be a good time.

He switched on the datapad upon the table, opened a file labeled 'Cyclonus 34,' and hit the play command. As the slow, gentle music filled the speakers, he walked to the practice floor and began to dance as he'd once learned so many millions of years ago. Yes, he'd picked up other styles along the way, but in the end he always came back to the Tetrahexian Stauros form. It was always comforting... always a reassurance of some inner strength and control he possessed.

Inner strength and control would be needed in the days to come.

Cyclonus shuttered his optics and danced blind. He didn't need to see to know the cross pattern his feet kept to on the floor. For millions of years he'd been following that same plus-mark pattern.

Megatron.

Cyclonus' concern for Tailgate had brought him into the former-warlord's sight. On seventeen occasions he'd filled in for Tailgate as the donor of natural transfluid, coldly 'facing the silver mech in an office or his quarters. It would have continued had it not been for Ultra Magnus' current involvement in Megatron's punishment.

The first song ended and another continued on, slow and rhythmic. 

Megatron's plan.

He'd been asked a great favor, and of course he'd said yes. He would do anything for Tailgate though he'd never understood why he would. And now that the pair were conjunxed, their lives forever entwined with each other, that devotion extended to Megatron and his spawn as well.

The plan was a risky one. But all of the options had been risky. Lives were likely to be lost, but the co-captain had assured them that this would be overall the best way to keep that number down. “I know these mechs we're up against,” he'd said, slapping his hand against the table to silence Rodimus. “They'll kill everyone aboard. If Tarn is indeed with them, that's a guarantee.”

Cyclonus shuddered at the memory of the meeting but continued to dance. Now was the time to be strong. To keep himself in check.

The music moved to the next song on the playlist—something sweeter, something lighter. His thoughts slid backward to memories of their shore-leave on Sugoi Station, where he'd been similarly charged. Tailgate had been so sweet. Synthesis and Watch had been adorable. And when the music changed again, his thoughts moved into the future, of the coming situation. He wouldn't hesitate to fight. He would kill if necessary to protect the family.

And that was when he noticed he'd strayed from the pattern. His feet were tracing a grid across the floor, no longer confined to the tight Stauros structure. With a gasp of disgust he schooled his movements back in and resumed the regulated form.

His thoughts returned to the meeting, of the mechs gathered about the table, those present and those who had been brought in. There were nine of them by the time the meeting had adjourned well into the second shift. Concerns. Fears. Danger. Unease.

Another Song.

Halfway through, on a strange impulse, Cyclonus willingly and consciously made three sideways steps in a row, intentionally breaking the pattern.

He smiled.

And beneath his feet, his universe suddenly felt at peace.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Hey! Barkeep!” Whirl barked at Swerve. “I need two more Hot Manifolds! I seem to have drinkend both of these.” The rotary laughed and looked at his date, the dead mech slumped in the booth beside him. “Ha-ha... drinkend.”

“You're sick,” Atomizer scoffed at him as he passed by.

“Shuzzup. I'm not sick,” Whirl scoffed back. “I'm drunk. An' so's Ambulon. I know... didn't think I could get a medic drunk, did you?”

Atomizer gave a snort and moved for the exit.

“Juz ignore him,” Whirl told his date. “He juz dun understand us. He juz dun understand that we're gun fix everything. You an' me and... and... and all the flowers.” He snuggled in a little closer. “All the flowers. I'm gonna turn 'em all back into mechs.” He sighed. “You and me... gonna make up for everything.” And then he reached for his cup, finding it still empty.

With a huff of disgust Whirl rose. “Guess there's no more table service tonight.” Then he noticed that the lights around the room were all switched off, save for the ones over the bar, where Swerve seemed to be working busily.

He pulled Ambulon's frame from the booth and carried him to the bar. When he tried to sit Ambulon onto the bar stools, the limp frame refused to cooperate. Whirl eventually just left the corpse flopped forward against the bar counter. “He's juz taking a nap,” Whirl explained. “Is been a long day and he's not useded to doing anything but lying there. Thaz the problem when you're dead. You gets lazy.”

“Whirl, I'm closed,” Swerve said flatly.

“Closed? Now?” He looked about the room. “But we're not dun drinkening.” He reached for a cup that wasn't there. “We can't be closed now.”

Swerve turned to face him. “Whirl, you've been creeping everyone out and it's time to leave. Come back tomorrow when you're going to behave. And come alone.” He turned back to his cleaning.

“I've been behavin' you know.” He waved his claw at Ambulon. “And Ambulon's been behaving, mostly. I had to tell him to quit touchin' my panel because he an' I dun have that kind of relationship. An' I told him that Megatron would get jealous. You know Megatron an' I had a baby together, yeah? She's got funny hands. But then Megatron dumped me for Tailgate.” He sighed sadly. “Yeah. I'd dump me for Tailgate. But I'm gonna fix it all and then...” He looked at Ambulon and stared at the dead mech for a klik. “Shuzzup Ambulon!” he spouted. “I can tell Swerve about it if I wanna. Swerve's my friend, aren't you Swerve.”

“Whirl. The bar is closed. Go home.”

“The bar's not closed!” Whirl looked around again. “Look, those guys are still drinkin', see?” He waved his claw at the two mechs sitting on the bench closest the door and Ten.

“Whirl, that's Boss and Aquafend of the security team. They're here to make sure you get home. And that Ambulon gets home. And that you get to a nice long appointment with Rung tomorrow.”

“Rung's got a funny aft... but otherwise he's okay. Kinda cute. Sexy big biolight up front. Wait, they're taking me home.” Whirl looked again at the two mechs.

“Yes Whirl,” Swerve said frustratedly.

Whirl giggled and rose. “Well maybe Ambulon and I dun have that kinda relationship—keepin' it professional an' all—but if they wanna take me home. That would be fine.” He drunkenly cocked his head. “Juz... juz... fine. Megatron can juz keep bein' jealous.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

They lay in the berth together, Megatron tenderly wiping away the tears of optic wash from Tailgate's faceplate with a soft cloth. 

“Why?” Tailgate asked eventually.

“Do I need a reason?” Megatron responded.

Tailgate's processor raced for an answer, but found none, and somehow that didn't matter. What seemed to matter now was the worrisome irritation of broken circuits and the burn of strained cables. He'd had neither from doing the spiking in either of his frames. And beyond the damage his frame just felt sticky from the hips down and his array felt slimy from repeated rounds of transfluid pumped into it. Neither carrying nor starving, his frame had not absorbed it, letting it simply trickle back out of him. “I... I need to wash. I should probably see Velocity too.”

Tailgate tried to sit up, but his conjunx pushed him back down. Another slosh of transfluid drained out of him. “Tailgate,” Megatron began in a gentle voice. “Relax. There's nothing you need to see to. Just lie there and relax.”

Tailgate's perspective suddenly switched. “You should relax. You must be exhausted! Let me at least bring you some fuel.” He had decided that he'd been pleased with one round, but Megatron had not stopped at one, instead taking him again and again. In the end he was left sore and shaken and terribly concerned for both of them as well as the unborn Phoenix Ambus.

“I could use some fuel,” Megatron agreed.

“I'm amazed you're still awake,” said Tailgate, squirming out of his mate's arms and off of the berth.

Megatron gave a sigh of contentment. “I won't be for long.”

Tailgate hurried to fetch three cubes of fuel, and Megatron drank gratefully. And when Megatron had finished his two and Tailgate his one, the silver mech smiled contentedly at him and drew him in close, pulling the blanket over them. “How do you feel?” Megatron asked, kissing at one of the finials on the side of Tailgate's helm. “Does it still hurt?”

Tailgate thought for a moment, and decided that while he'd never be clean without Rung's help again, the pain and the burn and the discomfort had dropped to nearly negligible levels. Maybe he didn't need to see Velocity after all. “No. The pain has passed. I feel good actually.” Tailgate clung to him, also deciding that he'd enjoyed being so full of his mate. It had been frightening at first, what with Megatron's unexpectedly aggressive passions. But now things were quite the opposite. Had anyone else ever seen him so affectionate? Romantic even?

“Good.” He shifted their positions on the berth, snuggling in for sleep. “Things are about to change, and you'll be at my side.” His hand stroked Tailgate's cheek again. “You must remain at my side. For your safety. For Watch's safety. This is imperative if you want to live. If you want her to live.”

“Megatron?”

“Goodnight, my beloved conjunx. Mine always...” he sighed, and then almost immediately dropped into recharge.

Tailgate tensed. Every time he thought he understood his conjunx, another piece of the mech unfolded itself before him.

Ravage's sinister words came floating back, that the Decepticon might not be dead, only sleeping. And right now, despite how they'd spent the past two cycles, he was terrified that those words were true. Something at today's meeting really had woken the emperor from a slumber of complacency.

-o-o-o-o-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyclonus' scene does have a playlist--five songs that he dances to as he's getting himself sorted out. In fact most of the dancing scenes (of which there are a lot of in this story) have a specific song or songs tied to them. This actually began back in Chapter 35 where Firejump seduces Rung--there was a very sexy song I envisioned for that moment. When I'm finished posting this story, I'll go back and list them in the notes of each chapter along with any additional material I want to share at that point.


	54. Ominous Ravage is Ominous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cheesy title for a not so cheesy chapter. Tailgate wakes to find himself wearing a Decepticon sigil. A shocking announcement from Rodimus follows.

-o-o-o-o-o-

On waking,Tailgate found himself alone in the berth. Sitting up, he found himself alone in the berthroom. He sighed. So much for his hopes of a nice morning with his conjunx. There had been that wonderfully lazy morning after their bonding when they'd snuggled together well past their usual rising time, enjoying the light of the Rhodosian Nebula before the return to their quest's course. Tailgate had hoped for a repeat, especially after what had happened last night. But apparently that was not to be.

He climbed out of the berth and stripped off the mattress cover and the blanket, placing them in the laundry box, trying not to dwell on what a mess they were. Likewise he tried not to dwell on how much of a mess his plating was. Coming into the main room of the habsuite he immediately spotted Ravage sitting with Watch upon her rug, the sparkling contentedly playing with an empty pouch of filtered energon, but no conjunx. “Where's Megatron?” he asked the cat-former.

“On the bridge. There was much business to attend to today.”

“So soon?”

Ravage chuckled. “It's past midday.”

Tailgate checked his chronometer and found that Ravage was right.

“Don't worry. Megatron fed Watch before he departed, and I gave her something more not long ago.”

Tailgate sighed again. While he still wasn't exactly fond of Ravage, the cat was both responsible and helpful when it came to the household. “Thank you, Ravage.”

“I'd recommend a shower,” the cat-former continued, grinning at Tailgate.

Tailgate looked aside, a touch humiliated. “I know... Megatron... um... he, uh...”

Ravage laughed at the mech's embarrassment. “Yeah. I could hear. You squeak a lot, and I'm not talking about your struts.”

Feeling that knot of embarrassment tightening further. Tailgate retreated to the washrack and was soon soaking off the dried fluids beneath the showerhead. Shortly, Ravage came in and put Watch in with her adoptive parent.

Tailgate gently cleaned her. He'd not spent as much time as usual with her lately. The reformatting and the bonding had taken up the majority of his days of late. But perhaps now things would get back on track and they could settle down into a comfortable routine. Before he knew it Phoenix Ambus would emerge. Watch would be weaned. Perhaps at some further point he would be sparking Megatron's fourth child. 

Tailgate smiled happily. He could do that now—well, he could once his spark had grown and fully stabilized into this larger frame.

Of course, at some point soon he'd have to start learning how to use his new wings. So far all he'd done was start up his thrusters. And that hadn't gone well. He'd scorched the decking and fallen ungracefully onto his cockpit. But he'd learn. All flyers learned to fly eventually.

After rinsing, he switched off the water and grabbed a towel, drying off Watch first, whom he handed back to Ravage. Then as he dried himself off he stepped in front of the mirror to examine his plating for scratches and dents that might need tending to.

The towel fell from his hands.

Frozen before the mirror, Tailgate stared at the Decepticon symbol that had somehow replaced the Autobrand he'd worn since his recovery from cybercrosis. His hand moved to the mark. Perhaps as a joke someone had stickered him. Every now and then a wave of stickering had hit the ship and most everyone found themselves sporting the sigils of inappropriate or imaginary factions. Or perhaps he was just imagining a Deceptibrand.

Ravage came to his side, the cat looking most pleased. “You look good like that,” he said approvingly over Tailgate's shoulder. “So did he.”

“He?” There came a pause. “Megatron?” Tailgate asked tenuously.

The cat-former huffed, but the sound was tinged with amusement. “Of course Megatron. This morning he came back to us. He stripped that dirty red smudge off of his chest and painted the true mark upon himself. And then, while you slept, you were next.”

Tailgate looked again at himself in the mirror, fingers fluttering at the mark as if it might burn him should he touch it again. “He took my Autobrand...”

Cyclonus' words suddenly floated back to him, back when Tailgate had shown off the brand new mark to his then-roommate. “It doesn't suit you,” was the appraisal.

The cat smirked ominously. “Today will be a red-letter day, Tailgate. One for the history books.” The cat picked up Watch and exited back into the berthroom.

“What are you taking about? Where's Megatron?” cried Tailgate, following after.

Ravage ignored the questions and stalked to the window and looked out into the depths of space, an expanse of darkness broken by few stars out here toward the galactic rim. He appeared to be looking for something.

“Ravage?” Tailgate scuttled after him. “What's going on? Megatron's acting all weird and now I wake up with this?” His hand thudded against the offending purple mark that had replaced the Autobot logo on his chest.

The cat looked over his shoulder at the jet. “The Emperor has woken,” he said smugly, confirming last night's fears in the exact terms.

“What!” Tailgate stood staring, and then he dashed for the door, only to find himself unable to open it.

“It's locked down!”

“I'm to keep you both here today,” Ravage explained. “You're to remain in the habsuite until Megatron sends for you and Watch.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

It was toward the end of first shift when the message went out across the Lost Light, announced over every shipboard speaker. Rodimus spoke slowly, deliberately, choosing his words carefully.

“This is Rodimus speaking, the former captain of the Lost Light. Pay attention. I'm only allowed to give you this message once before I'm sent to the brig.”

On every deck, mechs paused, setting down their work and listening. Had they really just heard that?

“This ship is now under the command of Megatron and the Decepticon faction. All hands are to stand down. With the exception of critical operational personnel, you are to return to your quarters and await further orders. If you are already in your quarters, remain there.”

Rodimus paused before reading the final segment. “The largest remnant of the remaining Decepticon force will be arriving in one cycle and boarding the Lost Light. They will be going from deck to deck and escorting us out for transfer to one of their ships. Do not fight back. Do not resist. Megatron assures me that if we surrender without a struggle, all prisoners will be treated fairly and taken back to Cybertron to be exchanged for Decepticon prisoners still incarcerated there. Again, do not fight back. Do not resist. This is my final order.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	55. Forty-One Ways to Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus' message is heard across the ship, causing concern and even chaos.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Rung and Whirl stared at the loudspeaker as Rodimus' message came through, and continued to stare at it when it ended.

“This has to be some kind of joke,” Rung spluttered when they decided there was no more to be heard. “Megatron? Staging a coup? He's shown every sign of being completely committed to peace if not particularly the Autobot cause.

“Ambulon...” Whirl said thoughtfully.

Rung turned toward his patient. “Excuse me?”

“Ambulon. I have to find him. I have to keep him safe.”

Rung did his best to keep his composure calm. Okay, this wasn't the first time a patient had lain upon his couch manifesting a perplexity between living and deceased. “Whirl, we've been through this. Several times. Ambulon's dead.”

Whirl scowled at the psychiatrist. “Yes, and I've explained to you several times that I understand that. Yes, I know he's dead. Which is why I have to find him. He can't protect himself.”

Rung bit back a rather unprofessional groan. “Whirl, I'm quite certain that when we're boarded, he'll be left alone. Now perhaps we should...”

His suggestion was interrupted by Whirl rising from the couch, who then turned a serious optic toward the orange mech. “Rung, you don't know him like I do. He's vulnerable. I have to take care of him.”

“At this point I believe it would be safest for us to just sit here and continue our session. I'm sure this is just some sort of joke.” Even if it wasn't a joke, Rung had decided it probably would be safest to remain put. There was a likely chance that the moment Whirl was left unattended he'd head off in search of Ambulon. And the corpse had been moved from the morgue to a secret location known only to Ultra Magnus and the security team.

Whirl took a few steps in the direction of the door. “I'm so worried about him. You know that he and I are going to undo the war... undo all the wrong I'm responsible for.”

Rung smiled. “Yes, now let's talk about that again. Tell me once more what you and Ambulon intend to do to rectify this guilt of yours.”

“Not now, Doc,” the rotary said impatiently. “I need to go make sure he's all right first. I don't want him to panic. And if they find him first... oh dear Primus, what they might do to him.”

“Who is 'they' ? If you could tell me.”

Whirl shook his head in frustration. “Primus! Don't you understand anything?”

“Maybe I don't. That's why I need you to explain it to me,” Rung said calmly. He'd realized earlier that Whirl had gone completely off the deep end, and knew that he'd recommend to the command staff that his patient be confined to quarters. But now after that strange and rather upsetting message, prank or not, he felt it best to simply stay put for now.

“I don't have time,” Whirl spat. “I have to save Ambulon!” He moved to the door, and finding it locked, he turned back to the psychiatrist. “Rung, please open it. Don't make me blast it open.”

Rung stood, and got out an authoritative voice, one he hated to resort to. “Whirl, return to the couch. Now.”

Sheepishly, Whirl stepped away from the door, actually obeying.

But then he paused. “No. What am I thinking? Ambulon needs me.”

Turning suddenly, he leapt, breaking open the office door as he impacted it. Catching himself in the hallway, he looked back into the office to see a flabbergasted Rung staring back at him. And then he stepped back toward the office, fixing the smaller mech with a bold yellow optic. “I have to save you too,” he said, sounding astonished at himself for not realizing it earlier. “I have to get you out of here as well.” With lightning speed, Whirl darted through the broken door to the desk, seized Rung by the arm, and tore him away into the corridor.

Rung protested, struggling against the rotary's grip, but only managing to score the paint from his upper arm.

“Quiet!” Whirl hissed. “I'm doing this for you.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Nautica and Skids stood staring through their window at the fleet outside, hands clasped together and fingers intertwined. Rodimus' announcement had shaken everyone, and the halls of the Lost Light had been a mess—mechs rushing here and there and gathering in places to discuss what exactly was happening. The visible approach of a Decepticon warworld had everyone agitated. It had taken some time for both of them to get back to their shared habsuite.

“Do you... do you think it's the end?” Nautica asked after some time, her grip on her conjunx's hand shifting.

“I don't know. We've been told to stand down, but how do I know we'll be given what Rodimus promised? These are Decepticons after all.”

“We were promised fair treatment...”

“By Megatron though?”

Nautica sighed. “I'm sure we'll be fine. Megatron has been good to his word so far since he's been aboard the Lost Light.”

Skids pointed at the moon-sized object growing ever larger. “But it's not just Megatron we're dealing with.” He let go of her hand and folded his arms beneath his chest. “I just can't see things going well for us.”

Nautica turned away, her chin lifting as she looked about. “I suppose we should make our final preparations. They're certainly going to strip us of weapons and anything of value,” she huffed. “I've already hidden my best tools and my screwdriver in the storage lockers in the engineering supply room. They might go through our quarters as well.”

The theoretician sighed. “If only I could hide you where you'd be safe.”

Nautica turned back and gazed into her beloved's optics, taking both of his hands and entwining their fingers again.

“As long as you're alive, I'll be fine,” he said softly, kissing her.

“We'll survive this,” she answered hopefully, pressing her helm to his.

“Merge with me...” he whispered.

Her expression of concern shifted to one of puzzlement. “Now? They may begin boarding at any time now.”

“One last time,” Skids coaxed. It may be a while before we can again. I want to feel your love for as long as possible.”

She tightened her embrace and kissed him deeply. “All right. But just once. We need to stay alert and sober.”

“Once will be enough,” Skids answered, leading her to the couch.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Tailgate! Are you in there?” The urgent pounding at the door resumed.

“Chromedome!? Is that you!?” Tailgate trotted toward the door of the habsuite, but Ravage blocked him from going right to it.

“Tailgate! Yeah! It's me! Open up!”

Ravage gave a low warning growl.

“Chromedome! I can't! I've been ordered to stay here with Watch. You're supposed to be in your quarters! They'll be boarding the ship soon and coming for us,” he shouted through the door.

“I know! I have to give you something though. Please.”

“I don't think this is exactly the time for gifts,” Tailgate said.

“Please, open up. You must take this.”

Ravage looked at Tailgate. “Move back from the door. Back to the couch,” the cat-former ordered.

Tailgate did so, and when Ravage was satisfied with the distance he opened the door.

Chromedome stood there, his entire frame trembling and his visor ablaze with yellow light. Tailgate's hand quickly moved to cover the purple sigil on his chest.

“Please... you must take this.” He moved to enter the room but Ravage blocked his path. So instead he placed the small object in his hand onto the floor. “Keep it safe.”

Suddenly the lighting in the corridor shifted to emergency status and the ship rocked from the port side.

“I must go!” Chromedome gasped. “Tailgate please. You're our best hope!” For a moment he looked down at the object, placing a finger upon it, and then he ran off down the corridor.

Ravage closed the door and looked down again at what Chromedome had left behind. He gave it a good sniff. And then gave an amused snort. Then he moved back to his post at the window where a mid-sized Decepticon ship was floating into view. “At last,” he said. “They're finally here.”

Tailgate ran from the couch to the door, quickly scooping up the tiny thing, no larger than one of his fingers. A data slug.

“Rewind?”

“It's me,” replied a weak, tremulous voice.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	56. To Take Arms Against a Sea of Troubles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getaway incites a rebellion against Megatron's takeover as the Lost Light is boarded by the forces of Deathsaurus. Meanwhile in Habsuite 034, Rewind and Tailgate huddle in fear of what might happen or what might be happening to their respective conjunxes.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Are we seriously going to take this like a bunch of saggy-strut cowards? Are we really just going to put down our arms and let them march us off to prison?” Getaway's words rang out over the rumbling in the work-bay, fifty-plus crewmembers all gathered around him trying to grasp the situation and what the situation might become. He stood upon a large crate, surveying those who had come to his summons and those that had tagged along, terrified of what seemed impending doom. “You all know we can't trust Megatron. We didn't want him aboard in the first place because somewhere back behind all the assurances and confidences we knew that something like this was going to happen.”

“They're boarding right now,” Blaster announced, looking up from the monitor he'd been watching. He sat on the crate at Getaway's feet, keeping abreast of the situation.

“We're Autobots. Fighting Decepticons is what we do. What most of us were created for,” Getaway continued. “They may outnumber us, but we know this ship. We're well armed. We can take them! If Megatron wants to start up his war again, we're ready to show him once more why his side lost.”

A round of cheers ran through the work bay, but another voice followed, ringing out clearly. “Everyone! Stand down!” Ultra Magnus stood at the end of the crowded room, arms raised. “Return to your quarters. If you resist, you will not survive.”

Getaway gave a scoffing laugh. “And you've bought into those empty promises too? The great Ultra Magnus has been cowed by an offer of peace that we all know to be simply a ruse to assure an easy first victory?”

There were angry-sounding shouts of agreement from the assembly. 

Ultra Magnus was not deterred. “Getaway, if you continue to encourage foment and disobedience, I will have to arrest you.”

The ship suddenly lurched again, and the shouts turned to worried murmurs.

“Arrest me? What? To make their job even easier? Are you one of us or one of them?” Getaway antagonized. 

Ultra Magnus forced his way through the crowd. “You will stand down. That was Rodimus' order.” He pointed a finger of warning at the escapist.

“Rodimus? Hah!” Getaway folded his arms over his chest. “Rodimus has failed us again and again. I sincerely hope Megatron murders him so he won't continue to lead anyone in circles and up blind alleys.”

“You only saw circles and blind alleys,” Ultra Magnus countered. “And right now, you are deceiving yourself and leading anyone who will listen to you into great peril.”

Getaway snorted. “And did Megatron send you down here himself to tell me that?

Ultra Magnus stood silent for a moment. “He did. I trust him to be true to his word—word given to both Rodimus and I.”

Getaway narrowed his optics and changed his tone of voice. “We all know what you've been up to with Megatron. It's not some big secret that you're the one who sired the newspark he's carrying right now. Tell me, what else are you doing for the carrier?””

Derisive laughter filled the room and Ultra Magnus clenched his hands into fists.

“Ultra Magnus, you are being deceived,” Atomizer mocked.

The lights, flickering already, suddenly went dark. In moments the emergency systems came back on, filling the room and surrounding corridors with an unsettling red glow.

“Well this is it!” Getaway addressed the agitated mob. “Do we go quietly to the slaughter? Or do we take that fighting chance?”

“Getaway! This is madness! You cannot hope to win!” Ultra Magnus pleaded.

Getaway unfurled and powered up his weapons. His action was followed by most of the assembly doing likewise. And then he narrowed his gaze and focused sternly upon the big mech. “Either get out your gun, or get out of our way.”

He jumped down from the crate and stormed out, his followers marching behind him.

Ultra Magnus watched helplessly as the room emptied. So many familiar faces—each one haunted by fear and charged with determination. And when the room had emptied, the few mechs left stood about in worried silence, apparently unsure and lost regarding what to do. “Return to your quarters,” he ordered them. “Avoid any fighting. If you encounter any Decepticons on your way, surrender immediately.”

They shuffled out, looking at the great enforcer for hope or just information, but he provided none. As First Aid came out last, he paused. “Are you sure we'll be all right?”

Ultra Magnus forced a smile of reassurance. “Go back to the medibay. Heal the wounded that come to you... whoever it is. You'll survive.”

First Aid nodded, and then hurried out.

And when he was gone, Ultra Magnus sighed deeply, and then opened a 'comm-line to the bridge. “They wouldn't listen. I tried, but they wouldn't listen.”

At the other end Megatron scowled. “Then whatever happens to them, they've earned.”

“Megatron... please...”

“The war's on again, Magnus. You'd best head for the brig now and lock yourself in. It will be the best option for you to survive this.”

Ultra Magnus sighed and switched off the link. “Then so be it...”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Tailgate and Rewind huddled together on the berth, arms around each other. When an explosion rocked the Lost Light, both cried out, shuttering their optics.

“I should be there with him!” Rewind wailed. “If we're going to die, it should be together!”

Tailgate held tightly, fearful the archivist might bolt away. “Rewind, he wanted you here. He wanted you to live. Chromedome felt this was the safest place, so you have to stay.”

“What's the point of living if I can't live with him?” Rewind countered. “When the DJD came for us on the other Lost Light, and they killed him because he wouldn't... because he wouldn't...” Rewind broke down into sobbing again. “I haven't found him again only to lose him once more.”

Another explosion shook the Lost Light.

Rewind turned, staring into Tailgate's face, his field wild and flaring. “I have to go to him! He needs me!” He began to struggle against the jet-former's hold.

Tailgate refused to let go. And it wasn't hard with this new frame—so much larger, so much stronger. Once he and the ancient little mech had been only a head apart. Now Tailgate towered over him as Chromedome did. “Rewind, calm down. Reach for him. What's the bond saying. Calm down and feel for the bond.”

The archivist vented deeply and stilled himself in Tailgate's arms. “He's... he's scared. And angry. He's scared for me though.” Rewind's hands shifted on Tailgate's armor. “He's more worried about me than himself.”

“Let him know you're safe. If you're alive he'll make sure that he stays alive.”

Rewind relaxed even further as he concentrated on the bond.

“That's it, Rewind,” Tailgate said softly, feeling the change in the small mech's field. “Send back calmness and kindness. That's what I do for Megatron when I know he's stressed. I think it helps.”

Rewind suddenly jerked in his arms. “Tailgate! What's Megatron feeling? Maybe you can tell us what's going on.”

Tailgate sighed. “I've been trying to read him. When this started he was calm but so worried as well.”

“Worried? Worried about what? He's become a Decepticon again and here's his army to back him up.”

“He's worried... for the future.” Tailgate shuttered his optics and tried to grasp more of the link between himself and his mate. “The future of the Decepticon Empire...? No... just the future...” he said vaguely. Tailgate suddenly startled. “He just noticed me here at the bond.”

“And?”

“He told me to trust him... and that he loved me.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


End file.
